


The Camera Eye

by sodium_amytal



Category: Rush (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Homophobia, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Signals era. Alex Lifeson is Canada’s most famous and beloved movie star. He has everything he wants except the thing he desires most: real, genuine love. As a closeted homosexual in the public eye, Alex has little to no chance of developing a romantic relationship with another man. He sublimates his discontent into casual sex and recreational drug use, desperate to fill the void in his life.</p><p>Enter Geddy Lee, a journalist who Alex meets through an interview. Geddy devises an engaging plan to turn Alex’s life around, and Alex is more than willing to follow if it means spending more time with the awkwardly charming reporter.</p><p>But just as things start looking up for Alex, the tabloids spread vicious rumors that threaten his career, and Alex’s kingdom comes crumbling down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chemistry

_"Suppose one reads a story of filthy atrocities in the paper. Then suppose that something turns up suggesting that the story might not be quite true, or not quite so bad as it was made out. Is one's first feeling, 'Thank God, even they aren't quite so bad as that,' or is it a feeling of disappointment, and even a determination to cling to the first story for the sheer pleasure of thinking your enemies are as bad as possible? If it is the second then it is, I am afraid, the first step in a process which, if followed to the end, will make us into devils."_ ~ C.S. Lewis

* * *

Neil nudges Alex with his elbow as they head inside the restaurant. "Remember, this guy is a friend of mine, so try not to embarrass me, okay?"

"Me?" Alex gasps, feigning offense. "I'm always a delight."

Alex is possibly the most famous movie star in all of Canada, but he still feels a little out of place walking in here. One of the most exclusive restaurants in Toronto, The Orbit Room is a massive, two-story palace of gold ceilings and bright lighting. The gold reverberates in the stacked rows of wine bottles lining the support beams, in the fluted glasses stationed at each table, in the frosty glass of the windows. The tables are all finely-polished wood, the chairs expensive leather.

The second story is typically reserved for celebrities and their guests. Most of the stars dining there greet Alex as he walks by their tables.

Neil Peart, Alex's manager-slash-chaperone, spots their contact tucked into a large booth and sitting alone. The man they're meeting today is Geddy Lee, a journalist for the Toronto Globe and Mail. Geddy's studying the menu like there might be a test on it, his expression glacial and serene. He's wearing a gray blazer thrown over a t-shirt, the sleeves pushed up around his elbows, but no man should involve himself with that haircut, fashion trends be damned. It's just too fluffy and poofy for words.

Neil approaches the table and introduces Alex.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lifeson," Geddy says with a firm handshake.

"The pleasure's all mine. Neil's told me some great things about you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he thinks you're a fantastic reporter, otherwise he wouldn't have threatened me to do this interview," Alex says, and he can almost hear Neil sighing in frustration.

Geddy turns the color of a tomato, his small eyes blinking fervently.

Alex chokes on a laugh and manages to make a really unattractive honking sound. "I'm just joking. I'm sorry. I do that when I'm nervous." The three of them sit down, and Alex ignores the look Neil's giving him.

"Why are you nervous?" Geddy wonders, refilling his wineglass with the bottle on the table.

"'Cause I'm not really good at interviews. 'S'why I don't do very many of them."

"But you agreed to this one."

"Neil vouched for you."

"In a very non-threatening way," Neil assures Geddy, taking the bottle when he's finished with it and pouring himself a glass.

"It's good to see you again," Geddy says with a smile.

Neil nods in acknowledgement and sips his wine.

"How do you guys know each other?" Alex wonders, because Neil didn't really explain that part to him.

"We met at a bar a few years ago," Geddy recalls. "We talked about hockey and ended up discovering we had a lot in common and liked each other's company."

Alex looks at Neil. "You never told me any of this."

Neil shrugs like it doesn't matter. "Oops."

After they order their food, Geddy shifts in the leather booth and asks Alex, "So you say you're not good at interviews?" It's not much of a segue, so Alex assumes the interview has begun.

"Yeah, I just—If I don't have to do an interview, I'd rather not do it. I'd much rather go for a drive or do something entertaining than just sit around and talk about my movies. And when I think about having to talk and go on record with no re-takes or do-overs, it makes me nervous."

"Well, then consider all of this off the record. We're just chatting. And if I ask anything I'm not supposed to, Neil will let me know."

Alex takes a deep breath and wipes his already-sweaty palms on his jeans. "Alright, well, ask away, I guess."

"When did you decide you wanted to be an actor?"

"I still haven't," Alex says, laughing nervously. "I got my role in 2112 'cause I was tending bar at a restaurant in Harbour Square. One day I served a guy who worked for Anthem, and we got to talking. It was an up-and-coming studio, so obviously they couldn't afford huge stars, y'know? But he knew somebody who knew somebody else, and within a week or two he set me up for a screen test, and then everything just sort of snowballed. I don't really like to talk about it 'cause I feel like I didn't really earn it. You hear stories about how all these other actors struggled for years to get where they are, and here an opportunity just fell into my lap."

"Sometimes it happens that way," Geddy says, encouraging. "Harrison Ford was a carpenter before he was famous, and he had a client who introduced him to a Hollywood agent who knew George Lucas. Speaking of which, I know 2112 came out in '76, and then Star Wars a year later. What do you think about the accusations that 2112 ripped off Star Wars?"

"It couldn't have," Alex chuckles. "It came out first. If anything, they ripped us off."

"Do you think there's any truth to that?"

"No way. You can't put a movie like that together so quickly. I mean, Star Wars came out in '77, so let's say they shot it in '76, and maybe it was greenlit in '75. By the time somebody sits down, gets a script together, does rewrites, hires a director, casts it, and waits 'til the actors are free to start shooting... That takes time, y'know? And stuff with special effects and big, elaborate sets takes even longer to create and shoot. So, no, they couldn't have ripped us off, 'cause 2112 was being filmed probably around the same time Star Wars was being written."

"It is interesting, though, how two different people could come up with similar ideas almost at the same time," Geddy says.

Alex shrugs. "Maybe there was something in the water in the mid-'70s that made everybody gung-ho for space stuff?"

Geddy chuckles, and, wow, he's actually kind of cute when he does that. Alex files that particular nugget of information away for later.

Alex continues, "But I think as a culture, we're all tapped into the same well of ideas, so that's what we all react to—the same sets of idea and conditions. So I don't think it's too unbelievable that two different people could think the same way or see the same sort of"—he searches for the phrase—"cultural need. Or maybe it's some mystical energy that drives the universe. But that's a whole different conversation."

"Was it hard to follow up 2112 with the sequel?"

"The funny thing about that is the first movie wasn't really successful. It wasn't a box-office bomb necessarily, but it was a flash in the pan, forgettable kind of thing. It wasn't even released in the United States, just here in Canada. Then Star Wars came out, and everybody was talking about how great it was, how revolutionary, that sort of thing. And one critic out of California wrote an article for a paper—I don't remember which one—but he was basically like, 'hey, guys, somebody already did a big outer space epic a year ago,' and sort of brought 2112 back into the collective conscious. And I guess somehow that comparison got twisted around into '2112 ripped off Star Wars.' But the surge of popularity encouraged the studio to do a sequel. Y'know, strike while the iron's hot."

Neil smiles and jostles Alex with his elbow. "And you say you're no good at interviews."

"I'm not," Alex protests, feeling his face go hot. "I ramble too much."

"It's always better to have too much material than not enough," Geddy says.

Their food arrives, and Alex sips his wine in hopes of the alcohol soothing his frayed nerves. His rapport with Geddy is easy and natural, and Geddy doesn't seem to be judging him or in any sort of hurry to get the story and get out. Which is great, because Alex is beginning to feel _things_. The longer he gets to talk to Geddy, the better he'll be able to remember the timbre of Geddy's voice and the tempting curve of his mouth while he's jerking himself to completion tonight over a fantasy of the two of them intermingled.

"What made you try for your role in Subdivisions?" Geddy asks.

"I was looking for something different. They say if you start out in action movies you have to make the switch pretty quickly or else you're just doomed to be an action star forever, so I guess I wanted prove I could do more than just look good holding a laser gun."

Geddy laughs. "On a similar note, you were recently named one of People Magazine's Fifty Most Beautiful People of 1982."

"Probably 'cause of the poster for Return to Syrinx," Alex chuckles. The movie poster for the 2112 sequel was a seductive shot of Alex posing with one of the futuristic guns, like a sci-fi James Bond. "But really, I'm flattered. When I signed on to 2112, I never imagined it would lead to anything like this. So I'm grateful for any sort of positive recognition I get, even if it's based on something as silly as how I look. I'll take it!"

"What are you working on now?" Geddy asks. "Any interesting projects you can talk about?"

"Actually, yes! I'm in the middle of filming another movie. A romantic comedy. I'm really excited about doing it 'cause it's my first time in the lead role of a movie that isn't sci-fi or action. Subdivisions was just a small role I'm surprised anyone even remembers, so I'm considering this my first real venture into comedy and drama."

"What's your personal life like?" Geddy asks, and Alex hears the trepidation in his voice, as though this might be a touchy subject. "You're not married yet, are you?"

"No, so if you want a date, I'm available," Alex jokes around nervous laughter, and in his peripheral vision he sees Neil pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. Fuck, it probably wasn't a good idea to hint at his sexuality, even in jest. What would happen to his career if the media got a whiff of scandal?

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Don't—don't print that. But, uh, I turn thirty this year, so having a family is something I think about a lot now. There's a lot of pressure..."

Alex doesn't want to think about how hard it's going to be, how he'll appear to have chronic bachelor syndrome by way of never marrying. And if he does marry a woman in order to keep up appearances, he can't expect her to live in a sexless marriage. But the media would undoubtedly catch her "cheating" and drag her through the mud for it, which wouldn't be fair at all.

Worked into anxiety by his own imagination, Alex swallows the rest of his glass. Why couldn't he have been born bisexual instead of gay? At least then he'd have a chance at maintaining a 'normal' lifestyle even if he were primarily attracted to men.

"It'll happen when it happens," Geddy says with an encouraging smile. "If it makes you feel better, I'm not married either, and we're the same age."

"It's different when you're famous, though. But listen to me complaining. It's not that bad. It's all relative. You'd probably trade places with me in a second."

Geddy's brow knits. "I don't know if I would. I'd always be wondering if there were ulterior motives. As it stands now, no one's gonna date me for my money, and I'd like to think we're all mature enough that no one would do it because they lost a bet."

Hearing that makes Alex inexplicably sad. "Has that happened to you before?"

Geddy's gaze darts away, and his voice goes weirdly soft—or, at least, softer than usual. "Who's asking the questions here?"

"I thought we were just having a conversation." Alex isn't sure why he's pushing this, especially when it seems like Geddy doesn't want to talk about it.

"Alex," Neil warns like a stern but caring father. "Be careful."

"You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—It's none of my business." Maybe the alcohol is working a little _too_ well, making Alex open his dumb mouth and say stupid shit he can't take back. He eats some more, hoping to offset whatever havoc the booze is wreaking on his system.

Geddy recovers like a pro, and if he's shaken by Alex's question he doesn't show it. "What do you do when you're not working? Any hobbies or pastimes?"

"I like to paint. Sometimes I'll get together with friends and play tennis on their courts. And every now and then I'll get in my car and just drive. I don't know where I'm going."

That last sentence sounds like a cry for help in his own ears, but Geddy doesn't hear it.

"Is there any advice you might be able to give to aspiring actors?"

"Um, well, stay in school. Don't be like me," Alex laughs, self-deprecating. "I don't really think I'm qualified to give advice. That's like asking the son of a millionaire how to make money."

Geddy smiles and tries another avenue. "Excluding your own, seen any good movies lately?"

"Excluding my own?" Alex laughs again, shaking his head. "Well, Alien kept me up a night or two hoping that thing wasn't hiding in my fucking closet."

Neil huffs a noise that's half laughter and half embarrassment. "I'm pretty sure the size of its head alone makes that an impossibility."

"Well, I know that _now_." Alex rolls his eyes. "But something more recent... Videodrome was pretty creepy—"

"He didn't ask which movies gave you nightmares," Neil points out.

Alex puts his hand on the side of Neil's face and gently pushes him away. "Blade Runner. The Thing... That new Star Wars is coming out soon. I'm excited for that."

"You seem to have a thing for horror movies," Geddy points out. "Or at least films that are kind of disturbing."

"Yeah, it's kinda weird, 'cause I'm really squeamish. So I end up watching some of the scenes through my fingers. But when they're done well, when it's not just violence and gore for the sake of it, they're fun."

They carry on with light, casual conversation until the meal's over and Geddy's preparing to leave. "Well, Alex, it was great talking to you. Hopefully we can do it again." It sounds like he means it, and Alex's heart swells.

"You gonna be able to remember everything we talked about?"

"I won't need to." Geddy reaches beneath the table and grabs something off of the seat. He holds up a small tape recorder and smirks. "I've got it all on here."

Alex grins. "Wow, sneaky! I like it!"

They shake hands, and Geddy says, "If you need to get a hold of me, Neil has my number," before he leaves.

Alex doesn't realize he's staring until Neil lightly smacks his shoulder. "Try being a little more subtle," Neil says with a tiny smile.

Alex quickly averts his eyes. "Sorry."

"It doesn't bother me. It's Broon you've gotta worry about." Terry Brown—a.k.a. Broon—is Alex's agent, and he definitely wouldn't appreciate the full-blown scandal that would ensue if word spread about Alex's sexuality.

Alex sighs and sinks into the leather seat, staring forlornly at the dessert menu. "Would you judge me too harshly if I ordered the chocolate cake?"

"Only if you mean the entire cake."

Alex opens his mouth to argue with that but wisely changes his mind. "Fine."


	2. The Body Electric

_One week later..._

The movie, entitled Middletown Dreams, is filmed on various sets on Toronto soundstages and on-location in West Vancouver. Today's filming takes place on a set that's supposed to be a bedroom in a suburban home. Alex is present along with two co-stars sharing this particular scene with him: Hugh Syme, a C-list comedian using this film as a springboard for his movie career, and Charlene, the love interest.

Alex doesn't remember Charlene's last name, not through any fault of her own, but because a) she is an unknown, fledgling actress (most of the movie's budget was spent bringing Alex and Hugh aboard), and b) Hugh makes himself difficult to forget by being as obnoxious as possible. He plays the smarmy, rich socialite who's supposed to sweep Charlene's character off of her feet but will inevitably lose to Alex's role of the down-to-earth everyman with a heart of gold.

The scene they're filming today is one of many Alex has been dreading: kissing his female co-star. And, look, it's not that he fulfills the gay male stereotype of being disgusted by anything without a Y chromosome. But he's never had any romantic experience with women, and he's terrified that fucking up this scene will expose him as a fraud to the world and his co-workers.

Charlene either really likes Alex or is a damn good actress, because she's hitting all the right notes here: hands clutched in the front of his shirt, pressing harder against his mouth when his hands come up to touch her face, tilting her head to kiss him deeper.

The things that look cool in movies are never nearly as fun to do on set. There is no dramatic orchestral score playing in the background when you kiss the beautiful woman in front of you. That's added in post-production. The experience of kissing on set is very much like kissing someone in real life, except you're in a fake bedroom with manufactured lighting and there's a handful of people watching and critiquing your performance.

"Cut!" The director, megalomaniacal douchebag Ray Danniels, interjects. "Alex, this is _your_ moment. Not hers. You love her, but you're afraid she'd rather be with Hugh because he's richer and more successful, and if you could just show her how much you want to be with her—Own the kiss. Make it yours."

God Almighty. Alex heard less ridiculous things on the set of 2112, where "Someone please corral the robot!" was shouted to a stage-hand almost daily.

Ray Danniels is the type of director who treats every project as though he's making the next Godfather. Middletown Dreams' original director was genre-savvy Rupert Hine, who co-wrote and directed last year's suburban comedy Subdivisions. But the studio, as studios tend to do when large amounts of money are thrown around, panicked and fired Hine from Middletown Dreams, replacing him with Danniels and inevitably dooming the movie to rewrites and reshoots to capture its new director's overwrought sense of dialogue and characterization.

In short, Alex doesn't have high hopes for this movie, but it's still a paycheck, and maybe he can salvage something watchable through his performance.

Shooting the kiss takes two hours, because each movement is meticulously choreographed—as per the director's vision, because this is an art piece, goddamn it, not a silly popcorn rom-com—and inevitably one of the actors fucks it up. But Danniels is adamant that this scene is the cornerstone on which the rest of the film hinges—and, in his defense it kind of is—so Alex and Charlene and the camera operators and crew union workers soldier on.

Immediately after the kiss comes the scene where Hugh's character, Jack, stumbles into the room, liquored up and possessive over a woman he thinks is his, and causes a shitstorm which, of course, causes Charlene's character, Rachel, to see what a blistering jackass he really is.

Alex has to wonder about the bizarrely specific stereotypes in movies. Just as every evil genius must speak with a British accent, so must every love triangle end with the woman choosing the plucky everyman, who is never creepy or rude, and if he's awkward it's never in a way that's uncomfortable to watch. And he must always be juxtaposed against a rich, suave guy who possesses some unforgiveable personality defect which doesn't crop up until the third act.

These archetypes exist because movies are written by the plucky underdogs who wish this was the way life worked out. But Alex has met plenty of people who disprove these unwritten cinematic rules—socially awkward outcasts who aren't nearly as likeable and endearing as their movie counterparts would have you believe, and rich people who aren't assholes.

Hugh, however, isn't one of them. Hugh was born to play this role. He storms through the set door perfectly on cue and proceeds to wreck Alex's shit. Or at least, to appear as though he's wrecking shit. Movie fight scenes are a complicated web of choreography meant to give the appearance of actual fighting. Alex is a fiend at memorizing complicated patterns, having had plenty of experience in the 2112 movies.

During one of many takes, Hugh seems to break character and throws in some moves that aren't in the script, some of which actually hit Alex, though not in any crucial areas (read: the face). Danniels loves the improvisation, despite the way Alex's insides shudder from multiple punches, and swears he's keeping it in the final cut.

After the laborious twelve-hour shoot, Alex really just wants to go home, so he's not too thrilled when Hugh comes up to him and invites him to a strip club. "C'mon," he urges. "It'll be great. You look like you could use a drink or three."

The invitation strikes Alex as an insult in the wake of his awkward performance with Charlene earlier, as though Hugh sees right through his charade of heterosexuality.

But Alex knows it's easier to grin and bear the discomfort than to attempt a polite refusal. It might be beneficial to be spotted going into a high-end gentlemen's club, providing him a situational suit of armor against any gay rumors that might surface.

So, of course, Alex ends up dragged along to have pairs of powdered tits shoved in his face.

They don't go to a high-end gentlemen's club. Instead, it's a sleazy strip club named Limelight. Hugh fist-bumps the bouncer as they enter, and most of the patrons greet him like an old friend, like he's Norm walking into Cheers.

It's open-mic night, which means the club is subjected to Hugh's miserable stream of words that Alex is certain makes him a robot, because no human could misunderstand the concept of jokes this badly.

Hugh's set isn't funny, but this is the age of comedians like George Carlin and Richard Pryor and Eddie Murphy, and Hugh seems to have taken away from their successes that political incorrectness and mean-spirited lampooning automatically equal comedy. The crowd eats this shit up, though, but odds are you're not very discerning if you go to strip clubs looking for laughs.

As most shock comedians do, Hugh devolves into homophobic jokes, at which Alex checks out, because he knows this hack won't be able to make them clever. "What do you call a gay guy on roller skates? Rolaids!" This is how a sense of humor writes a suicide note.

Alex slinks to the bar and orders a rum and Coke. The bartender, a Joan Jett look-alike with colorful tattoos up and down her arms, smiles and slides his drink to him.

"You're Alex Lifeson, aren't you?" she asks. Her teeth are startlingly perfect.

"Yeah, that's me. Are you a fan?"

"Not really," she says, sounding embarrassed. "I just recognized you from the cover of People."

"Which one?"

"The, uh, sexiest man of 1982?"

Alex grins. "I know, I just wanted to hear you say it."

She laughs a light, childlike sound that betrays her tough-girl exterior. "Why aren't you up there?" She gestures to the stage where Hugh is trying to squeeze more wordplay into clumsy AIDS jokes. Killer stuff. "You're funny."

"I'm not really a comedian," Alex says. "And I get nervous on stage."

"No way! Really?"

"I'm actually nervous right now." He cracks a smile and earns another laugh.

A few people abandon Hugh's set and meander over to the bar, lured in by her genuine laughter. Some of the patrons recognize him immediately. Others don't know who he is until someone else asks, "Aren't you Alex Lifeson?" Alex has attracted a crowd now, and despite his misgivings about crowds he's desperate for their approval. He buys them shots and beers and stiff drinks, and they love him for it.

Alex is drawn into multiple conversations about being a movie star, about working alongside John Candy in Subdivisions, about the rich lore of the 2112 universe. He doesn't even notice Hugh has walked offstage until he materializes at the bar and orders three fingers' worth of Jack.

"Look at you," Hugh says, edging his way through the crowd. "The most popular man in Toronto."

"The most popular man in a Toronto strip club at"—Alex checks his watch—"ten o'clock at night."

Hugh downs his shot and drops the empty glass on the bar. "This is a strip club, Alex. Not a meet-and-greet." He sort of pulls on Alex's lapels and yanks him off the barstool.

Hugh leads him into a half-full booth where dancers begin to swarm once Hugh flashes a huge wad of money. He jams paper bills into a dancer's sequined G-string. Alex watches the girls work for tips, and he briefly wonders if guys really buy into any of this, if they actually think these girls are interested in them at all.

"Someone take care of Alex," Hugh says from behind his stripper.

Shit.

"I'm fine," Alex protests. "I can take care of myself." He gets up, tries to make a dash for the bar—moving targets are harder to nail down—but a fire-engine redhead with hair teased more than a bedwetter rubs his shoulder as she sidles up next to him.

"Sounds hot. Can I watch?" She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm Candi."

Sure.

"Hi, Candi."

Then the smile morphs into something more real when she recognizes him. "You're Alex Lifeson, aren't you?"

Alex spreads his hands. "You caught me."

"I love your movies! When I was in high school, I had the poster for Return to Cygnus in my locker. You were so sexy."

"'Were'?" Alex says, pretending to be offended by the past tense.

She laughs and touches his arm. "You're so funny!"

This charm, it's a curse.

Candi leans forward, making sure to offer a peek. "You wanna come with me to the Champagne Room, Alex?"

"Say yes!" Hugh bellows, lifting his face from between the giant breasts of his lap dancer. "And tip her an extra hundred!"

The other guys erupt in waves of knowing chuckles.

God damn it.

"Sure, why not?"

Candi takes Alex's hand and leads him down a long corridor with posters of showgirls on the wall. She brings him into a private room, and Alex tries not to touch any of its surfaces. Candi starts to sway and grind her ass into his crotch.

"So, um, what's the extra hundred for?"

She gives him a coy smile over her shoulder. "One easy way to find out."

Alex doesn't need a vivid imagination to figure out what that tip might lead to, especially since they're in a private room. His palms start sweating, but he doesn't want to go reaching for his wallet too quickly. He's got an escape plan, and using it at this juncture might raise some red flags.

So he lets her grind into his sad, unresponsive crotch, wishing desperately he was the kind of guy to get off on this, to wholeheartedly enjoy a pretty girl touching him. Alex has never been touched like this by a man, just by strippers and over-eager women at wrap parties and movie premieres and soirees. They are probably perfectly nice girls with brilliant smiles and warm laughs and open hearts, but some mishap in his DNA, a hiccup during his time in the womb has doomed him to disinterest in the opposite sex.

There are gay bars he could visit, but the risk seems to outweigh the reward. Alex's career could never withstand the scandal that would arise if he was caught inside or entering a gay bar. Some celebrities can get away with sexual ambiguity and gain fame through it—Boy George, Pete Burns, David Bowie—but Alex has been sold as Canada's boy-next-door. Finding out that he's gay now—or at least something other than the female-targeted sex symbol he's been marketed as—would seem like a public betrayal, and there's nothing the public hates more than discovering they've been cleverly deceived.

But Alex is almost thirty now, and he wants someone to come home to, someone to love and wake up with, someone who will laugh at his dumb jokes and share his life. He wants to fall in love, wants that pure and exciting fizzle in his chest when he sees or thinks about that special person.

It's time to go home.

Alex sighs and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He pulls out two hundreds and places them in Candi's hand. "That guy I came in with... Get some other dancers to keep him occupied. And don't tell anyone I left." He flashes her his award-winning smile.

Candi grins and sticks the money into her G-string. "Sure."

Alex waits a moment or two after she leaves. He sticks his head out of the room, sees Candi and a throng of other dancers surrounding Hugh.

He makes his escape and slips out the door.

Alex lives in a massive penthouse north of downtown, almost spitting distance from the airport. The building is surrounded by scores of other expensive, towering condominiums and penthouses. He moved here after the success of 2112. By the time the sequel came out, he wanted a more permanent settlement somewhere calmer without the constant roar of airplanes flying overhead. But he hasn't had the time or inclination to look for a new place. There's probably someone he could hire to do it for him. He'll have to ask Neil about that.

He rides the elevator to the 9th floor and unlocks his apartment. The loft is small, economically decorated with all the trappings of the decade: brightly-colored throw pillows and accent décor, sleek silver and black appliances, wicker furniture, flower-patterned couch cushions, and framed esoteric artwork.

Alex squeezes into the compact kitchen and pours himself a drink. He stares at his warped reflection in the microwave mounted above the stove. He wouldn't go so far as to say he's unhappy; money doesn't buy happiness, but it can certainly stave off sadness. He's just lonely. How lovely would it be to have someone in this space with him. Someone he could cook for, someone to leave him silly notes on the refrigerator in the morning before leaving for work. It's the little things he craves, the intimacy that cannot be manufactured through one-night stands or evenings spent at strip clubs.

He swallows down two fingers' worth of Jack and checks his messages. There's one from Broon, relaying an offer for a cameo in a music video by up-and-coming singer Madonna. The next message, however, catches him off-guard, because he's not expecting it at all.

"Hey, Alex, it's Geddy. From, um, the interview last week. I just wanted to call and thank you again for granting me the opportunity to talk with you. People really seemed to like the feature I did on you, and, um, I guess I did such a good job that I'm in line for the editor-in-chief position at the paper." Geddy sighs, the excitement in his voice fading away. "Sorry, I sound like I'm bragging, don't I? I just wanted to thank you for sort of, y'know, helping me, I guess. That's all. Bye."

Alex is oddly touched that Geddy credits him, however tangentially, with his success, and that he took the time to thank him. Alex reaches to pick up the phone and call him back but realizes Geddy never left a number.

Neil would know.

"It's almost midnight," Neil grouses drowsily after three rings. "Something better be on fire."

Alex considers telling Neil to forget it and just hanging up, but he's already woken the guy, so he might as well soldier on. "Sorry. I was just wondering if you had Geddy's number. He left me a really nice message and I want to thank him."

Neil sighs, loud and crackly, into the receiver. "I don't get paid enough for this."

"I'll give you a raise. Scout's honor."

Neil sighs again and rattles off the number. Alex scribbles it down on a nearby notepad.

"You're the best. Thanks."

Neil grumbles something in response and hangs up.

Alex stares at the number for a moment. Should he call? Geddy didn't leave a number, so maybe he doesn't want any more correspondence with Alex. But he sounded nervous, so there's a chance he might have forgotten, figuring Alex could just get his number from Neil. It's also ridiculously late, and Geddy might not appreciate being woken up just to hear from Alex's dumb ass.

But the alcohol is working its way through Alex's system, and he remembers how cute Geddy is, the sparkle and fizz he felt in his chest when Geddy smiled or laughed, and he's already dialing before he can stop himself.

Geddy doesn't answer, which alleviates some of Alex's anxieties and replaces them with entirely new ones. His breathing comes in short, uncomfortable breaths as he struggles frantically for something intelligent to say after the beep of the answering machine.

"Hey, it's Alex. It was really nice of you to call and thank me for the interview. Not a lot of people do that. Then again, I don't do a lot of interviews, so how would I know?" He chuckles nervously. "Anyway, congrats on the sort-of promotion! You wanna celebrate? Come over to my place for dinner sometime. I'm a great cook."

Holy shit, someone stop him before he embarrasses himself any more. He practically just asked Geddy on a date. He should be shot.

"If—if you want. You don't have to—It'll probably be too late anyway, 'cause of my schedule. And if the shoot runs late... Forget it. It was just—You know how I speak before I think." Another nervous laugh. Look at this dumb bastard, he thinks to himself.

"Anyway, thanks for the call. If you ever need a good word put in for you, you know my number."

Alex forces himself to hang up before he says anything else colossally stupid, like asking Geddy for a date. Except he already did that, because he's an idiot.

God damn it.


	3. The Enemy Within

Alex is awakened the next morning by the phone. Still caught in the cusp of sleep, he reaches out and plucks the noisy receiver from the nightstand. "Hello?"

Hearing Geddy's voice when Alex is warm and half-naked in bed feels perverse and somehow right. "Oh, shit. I woke you up. I'm sorry."

"'S okay," Alex says, stretching his legs and rolling onto his stomach. "What's up?"

"I wanted to tell you I'll take you up on that dinner. What's your wine selection like?"

Alex begins to suspect that he's still dreaming. He pinches the bare skin of his forearm. It doesn't really hurt, but it's corporeal, proof that this is actually happening. "Oh. Um. I've got lots of stuff. You won't be disappointed. When did you wanna... Is tonight okay, or—"

"Tonight is fine. I'm not busy."

Alex hears the implication there, that Geddy is rarely, if ever, asked to dinner, and the thought makes him inexplicably sad.

"Awesome. What kind of food do you like? Anything you can't eat? Are you cutting carbs?"

Geddy huffs a quiet laugh. "No, I'm just Jewish."

"I gotta tell you, that cuts out ninety percent of the contents of my fridge. Pork is maybe a third of the reason I get up in the morning."

"What's the other two-thirds?"

"People calling me," Alex says with a grin. He quickly changes the subject before Geddy can read too much into that. "Alright, well, I'll come up with something. You don't mind a late dinner, do you?"

"It's fine."

"You're so agreeable. That's awesome." He gives Geddy his address. "I'll leave the door unlocked when I get home."

"Thanks again. This is... really nice of you," Geddy says, his voice soft and quiet with a hint of suspicion, like he's wondering why Alex would bother doing this. There's a moment of silence in which he might be considering raising that question, but instead he says, "I guess I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah, I hope so!" Alex catches himself before he says 'have a good day,' like they're fucking married and he's seeing his dutiful husband off to work. How will he make it through tonight's dinner without doing or saying something recklessly stupid?

After hanging up, he discovers that he's feeling mildly feverish, the back of his throat unusually sore. The last thing he needs right now is to get sick. He downs a shot of cold medicine in the kitchen and dry-heaves over the sink for a moment.

Before he leaves for the soundstage, Alex calls his assistant and rattles off a complicated grocery list for tonight's dinner.

* * *

If anyone on set notices that Alex is getting sick, they don't mention it. He must not look the part. That will come eventually, and he'll end up spending more time in the makeup chair as to not look like the walking dead.

The shoot ends somewhere around schedule—thankfully, there were no kissing scenes today—and Alex hurries home to cook dinner.

He's in the middle of pan-frying the chicken breasts when there's a knock on the front door. "It's open!" Alex calls, then a moment later the door's opening and Geddy steps inside.

"Wow," Geddy says, taking in the view of upscale Toronto from nine stories high. "What a view."

"It's really nice in the fall when the leaves change colors. And winter has its own charm, I guess. Sometimes I go out there and build a snowman on the green. Or not-so green, because, y'know, snow."

Geddy takes a seat at the counter, watching Alex work over the stove. "You don't have your own personal chef?"

"No way. I love cooking. Plus, that's one less person on my payroll." Alex momentarily abandons the stovetop to fetch a chilled bottle of white wine from the fridge. He sets the bottle and two glasses in front of Geddy. "Help yourself. It'll be about thirty minutes. But there's fries, too." He offers a plate of cheese and ranch-drizzled fries alongside the wine.

At some point while the chicken is in the oven and they're on their first glasses of wine, Geddy says, "This is all very bizarre." His hair is sort of a mess, his cheeks flushed a mild pink, but Alex thinks he looks beautiful.

"What is?" Alex asks through a mouthful of fries.

"This." Geddy swirls the wine in his glass, sort of gesturing in a way that's supposed to indicate this thing between them. "Having dinner with a movie star in his home. That's never happened to me before."

"You don't seem star-struck," Alex says, which he appreciates. It's not that he doesn't like being fawned over, but it gets tiresome. "Need I remind you that I'm Canada's sweetheart?" He bats his eyelashes comically, making Geddy laugh.

"It's a new experience for me. None of the people I've interviewed have invited me for dinner."

"Maybe you were an asshole," Alex says, coyly, poking in his direction with a fry.

Geddy blinks in that way of his. "Oh God, maybe. I just—I'm too shy for my own good, and I guess maybe it comes off like I'm being an asshole."

"Why would a shy person choose a career where he has to talk to people?"

"Because I'm good at writing."

"So write manuscripts. Or novels."

"A man's gotta eat."

Alex snickers. Geddy's cynicism is... interesting, to say the least. "Point taken."

Alex sneaks away for another shot of cold medicine, because he really doesn't want to start sneezing or feeling miserable tonight. The medicine tastes like garbage, and he chases it with a long gulp of wine.

When the food is ready, they move to a small seating area near the windows. Geddy watches the twinkle of the city lights, while Alex watches him.

"You really are a good cook," Geddy says after a few bites.

"I told you I was."

"I figured you were bullshitting. Or you thought you were really good but none of your yes-men had the heart to say you suck at something."

Alex crooks an eyebrow. "You have a very negative opinion of famous people."

"I meet a lot of unpleasant ones, so it skews my perspective."

"Yet you're flattered when one invites you into his house."

Geddy's cheeks flush pink, and his mouth does a cute little pouty thing that Alex logs away for later.

"I'm just fucking with you. I don't care. I don't really consider myself a celebrity anyway. So I guess I'm biased too."

Geddy chews that one over for a moment. "I was surprised 'cause you did something nice without any expectations. I'm just a lowly journalist; it's not like I can get you a role in a movie or anything. What's in it for you if you do something nice for me?"

A tidal wave of shame and disgust sweeps over Alex. Just because Geddy can't see an ulterior motive here doesn't mean there isn't one. Alex is just as much of a selfish prick as the guys Geddy's describing. Geddy just doesn't know it yet.

Alex's stomach roils and his palms sweat. He takes another drink of wine and says, "A friend, maybe."

"So you do have expectations."

"Yeah, but they're really low."

Geddy does this thing where he smiles, rolls his eyes and glances away, like he doesn't want to admit that Alex made him laugh, and it's one of the cutest things Alex has ever seen.

Actually, most of the things Geddy does go on Alex's 'ridiculously cute' list. The way he brushes his hair out of his face with two fingers. The way he sits, one leg crossed over the other. The way he cuts his food into impossibly tiny pieces, as though to indicate that he's in no hurry to leave. The way he laughs softly at Alex's jokes and his cheeks flush pink. And Alex certainly doesn't fail to notice how Geddy turns his body towards him, focusing his attention on Alex.

Alex is no expert, but he thinks Geddy might be interested in him in a not-so platonic way. It's also equally possible that these signals are just Geddy's baseline mannerisms when he's comfortable with someone, and Alex is reading into things that aren't there because he's sad and pathetic.

Fifty-fifty, really.

As the night wears on and dinner is consumed, they open another bottle of wine. The combination of alcohol and cold medicine has made Alex a bit drunker than he's used to, and he's sprawled along the couch. Geddy has slowly inched down the U-shaped sofa to give him room.

"Maybe I should go," Geddy says, taking in Alex's slumped form.

"No, no, don't—don't leave on my account. I'm fine. I'm just—" Alex sniffles. "I took some Sudafed 'cause I think I'm getting sick. I guess it kinda fucked me up. But I'm okay. Please don't leave. I don't really have anyone to hang out with."

Geddy swirls the wine in his glass, shooting Alex a skeptical glance over the rim. "I find that hard to believe."

Alex shakes his head, slightly dizzied by the sway of his hair in front of his face. "Neil has friends. And his parents. Broon is too busy with me and his other clients. One of my co-stars, Hugh, is kind of a jerk—fuck, don't print that. And Charlene is nice, I guess, but I don't want her to get the wrong idea..."

Geddy chews his lower lip and nervously fingers the stem of his wineglass. "Are your parents... Did something happen to them?"

"No, but they don't live here. When I hit it big, I bought them a really nice house in Fernie, where I grew up, so they're set for life. But they can't exactly hop in the station wagon and decide to visit."

Geddy seems to hear something profound there. "I guess I know what you mean. I have friends, but I don't really have anyone I can confide in. My mother says it's trust issues stemming from my childhood."

"Is your mom a shrink?"

"Gee, how could you tell?" Geddy says with a fond smile. "She's right, though. I keep people at arm's length because I don't trust them."

"You can trust me," Alex says, entirely aware of how untrustworthy that sounds. "Who've I got to tell your secrets to?"

For some unknown reason, Geddy decides to open up to him. "I was an outcast growing up. I had a few friends, but they were losers too, so they weren't in any position to stick up for me. Which... I dunno, I think that made me feel worse, that my friends didn't care enough about me to defend me."

Alex's heart sinks.

"But I got asked out as a joke more times than I care to remember," Geddy says.

"Joke's on them. You grew up to be hot. I'd date you for real."

Alex never meant to say that out loud, but there it is.

Geddy's reaction is like a slap. He stares at Alex, unblinking, for what feels like an eternity. Alex is terrified to look away, as though doing so would be an admission of guilt, but Geddy's accusatory stare burns him like a hot iron. He withers under the weight of it.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean—I mean, I _did_ , but not—"

_Stop talking. For the love of God, just shut your mouth._

Alex can't think of a way out of this. Playing it off as a joke would just be cruel, since Geddy has been the butt of enough jokes in his lifetime. But admitting that he's genuinely attracted to Geddy is dangerous territory.

Geddy seems intent on poking at it. "You—do you really find me attractive?"

Alex opens and closes his mouth like a dying fish. "Well, yeah, but—I mean, you're a good-looking guy, y'know? It's not gay to point that out. Is it?"

Geddy's brow creases—Confusion? Annoyance?—and he says, "Alex, are you gay?"

The world is imploding around him, and Alex is helpless to stop it.

The way Geddy asks the question, how the words sound in his mouth, implies he already knows the answer. It's pointless to lie. Alex has been caught.

He lies anyway. "No." It's the wimpiest denial of anything ever, and Alex might have made a stronger case for his heterosexuality if he'd just jumped out the window.

Geddy's eyes are small but so expressive, and Alex will never forget how he looks here, like he's frightened by this new development.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Alex says. There is so much more he wants to say, but he can't find the words, so these will have to do.

Geddy sets his glass on the table and wipes his palms on his jeans. "It's late. I should go." He rises from the sofa, and Alex makes no move to stop him. Alex can't even look at him anymore, just stares intently at the couch cushion as though it holds a way out of this shitshow.

"Don't tell anyone," Alex manages to say. "Please. Don't print any of this."

The tabloids would pay boatloads of cash for a story like this, especially from someone who managed to get a real, genuine interview from the man himself.

Geddy opens the door. "I won't," he says before he leaves.

He totally will.


	4. Distant Early Warning

The morning hits Alex like a freight train. He's sneezing and his nose is running, his body aches, and he's hung over. A quick glance in the mirror tells him, yep, he looks as miserable as he feels. Awesome. At least this flu or cold or whatever the hell he's come down with explains away his watery, red-rimmed eyes.

On set, Ray Danniels nearly has an embolism when he sees Alex. "Look at you! You look like shit! What happened?"

"It's just a cold. I'll be fine." Alex punctuates that sentence with two rapid-fire sneezes.

"Jesus Christ," Danniels sighs. "We're not postponing filming just 'cause you've got the fuckin' sniffles. Get in the makeup chair."

Alex isn't sure the words 'fucking' and 'sniffles' belong in the same sentence.

"Are you okay?" Charlene asks Alex while he's being made up to look less like he's dying. Everything about her is bright and perky, and Alex hates her a little on principle.

"I'm fine. It's just a cold." His nose itches, and he fights the urge to scratch it.

"Ray is very upset about this," Charlene says, glancing over at the director's chair where Danniels is sitting.

"Tough shit. I'm sure he's worked with actors who showed up to the set totally destroyed. Cocaine-possessed party demons get a pass, but not me?"

"'Cause all he'd get from you is a cold."

Alex pouts, and the lights blaring from around the mirror tickle his nose. He sneezes abruptly, much to the displeasure of the makeup lady.

"You won't be offended if I go somewhere else, will you?" Charlene asks, slowly edging away from him.

"Save yourself," he grumbles.

Alex takes more cold medicine before filming starts, which staves off most of the sneezing but replaces it with sniffling. His eyes and nose are itchy, so he rubs them, which smears his makeup and sends him back to the chair for touch-ups. His watery eyes ruin takes.

Not surprisingly, the shoot runs late.

Alex gets home around midnight. He spends a long time sitting in the shower underneath the hot water, trying to warm up. When he checks his messages, he's surprised and terrified to hear Geddy's voice on his machine:

"Hey... I'm sorry for running out on you last night. I've never been hit on by a guy—or anyone—before, so it was kind of—I'm not trying to excuse what I did. I was an asshole, and I'm really sorry. It doesn't matter to me if you're gay. I'd still really like to be friends, 'cause... you make me laugh, and I like hanging out with you. But if you don't wanna see me again, I totally get it. Anyway, I just thought you'd want to know. Bye."

Relief washes over him. By the sound of Geddy's voice, it's unlikely he sold the story of Alex's homosexuality to the tabloids. Geddy didn't seem like that type of guy anyway, but in this business you never know.

Alex reaches for the phone but remembers that it's late. He shouldn't wake Geddy up for this. He got the machine last time, but that might have been a fluke. Better not risk it.

* * *

It's hard to get a good night's rest when you're sick, so Alex ends up tossing and turning most of the night and awakening at around seven. He dials Geddy's number after breakfast and is greeted with the sleepy sound of his voice.

"Shit, what time do you go to work?" Alex wonders.

"I woke you up last time, so I guess it's my turn now," Geddy says.

Alex hears the rustle of sheets on the other end, and his morning erection noticeably stiffens.

"I, um, I got your message." Alex hasn't thought about what to say here. "I'm really glad you didn't freak out and print that... You didn't, did you?"

"Of course not. I'm not that much of an asshole."

"You're just a medium-sized asshole?"

Geddy huffs a quiet sound of amusement. "That's being generous."

Alex sniffs and rubs his nose. "It's okay, Ged. At least you apologized."

"You've never told anyone, have you?"

"Neil knows. And maybe my parents figured it out since I never brought any girls home." There's a short silence Alex feels compelled to fill. "So now you know my dark, horrible secret. You've got a free pass to tell me one of yours at some point. It'll be like having blackmail on each other. We'll be deadlocked into silence."

"Maybe I'll take you up on that sometime," Geddy says, a small smile in his voice.

Alex sneezes.

"Bless you. Are you sick?"

"Just a bit, yeah."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Oh, it's awesome. I hold up the shoot because I'm drippy and gross, and every time I sneeze or rub my face I have to get back into the makeup chair. The director hates me."

Geddy gasps. "How could someone hate you? You're Canada's sweetheart."

"How quickly you've forgotten the other night."

"That wasn't hate, Alex. But I can understand how you might have seen it that way."

"Are we still friends?" It comes out of Alex's mouth and surprises him, a private thought expressed out loud.

"If you want to be."

"I do. We should have dinner again. I won't call you hot. I promise. Unless you want me to."

Silence.

"Ged?"

"Yeah, that's—yeah, we'll do that," Geddy says, as though taken off-guard. "Do you wanna go somewhere? There's a nice Italian place not too far from where I live."

"Probably not a good idea when you're tooling around town with Canada's sweetheart."

"Shit, sorry. I forgot."

How does someone forget they're hanging out with a movie star, Alex wonders. "It's okay."

"Proper etiquette dictates that I invite you to my place, since you were the host last time. I have a roommate, but she usually works late. You're not allergic to cats, are you?"

"I guess we'll find out."

* * *

Dinner with Geddy takes place on Friday night after the shoot. Alex, still sort of sniffly, wraps himself in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans. Geddy lives in a quaint little house in a neighborhood on the other side of the 401. There's one car in the driveway that Alex assumes is Geddy's. He parks on the street and takes the steps.

Geddy opens the door looking happy to see Alex. He's wearing an oversized Montreal Expos t-shirt and black pants; Alex can't tell if they're jeans or sweats. "C'mon in."

Alex steps inside the house and is stricken by how nice it looks. He wasn't sure what he was expecting—a grimy bachelor pad?—but this bright, open, almost beachy living room certainly wasn't it.

"Your house is really nice."

Geddy sort of laughs. "Don't give me too much credit. My roommate, Nancy, is an interior decorator."

"Well, she did a fantastic job." The floor is hardwood, with a marble-patterned rug. The curtains are sea-sky blue, the sofas and seats a soft cream color with pearly pink and blue throw pillows.

"You were expecting a dump?"

"Sort of. Not in a mean way, just—guys who live alone don't tend to have the best-looking places."

Alex spots a pudgy black and white cat lounging on the sofa.

"Is that your cat or your roommate's?"

"He's mine. His name is George."

Alex snickers.

Geddy shoots him a puzzled look.

"Sorry, it makes me laugh when animals have people names." Alex moves closer, kneeling by the sofa to address the cat. "But I'm sure you're a nice kitty, aren't you?"

George sniffs Alex's out-stretched hand and rubs his face on it. Alex scratches the cat behind its ear.

"Hi," Alex says.

George responds by tilting his head into Alex's hand. Alex rubs the cat's chin, feels the rumble of his purring.

"I think he likes me."

"He hasn't seen your movies," Geddy jokes.

Alex looks at him, mouth wide in amused surprise. "Me-ow."

Geddy does that nervous blinking and blushing thing. "I'm sorry, I was just joking. I thought we could—"

"Chill. I thought it was funny. I can respect someone who's not always kissing my ass."

Geddy actually owns a dining table, so that's where they eat. The table is positioned near a window with a reading nook, which George claims for himself. Tonight's dinner is Chinese take-out, the laziness of which Geddy apologizes for.

"Sorry, but I'm not much of a cook," he said, spreading the containers over the table. "And you gave me quite a lot to live up to. So I cheated."

"It doesn't bother me. I get lazy too."

They drink wine and eat and find a groove of casual conversation. Geddy talks about his job at the paper for a while, then he listens as Alex talks about moving to Toronto.

"I moved here when I was twenty-one. It was the first time I'd ever been on a plane. I had a few hundred dollars saved up from when I worked at a gas station back home. It was scary, 'cause I didn't know anyone, but that made it kind of fun, too. I started working as a bartender, then, y'know, the rest is history."

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Being a nobody. Unrecognized."

Alex shrugs and chews it over. "Sometimes. A lot of people who get into acting do it because they crave approval. I won't lie and say I'm not one of them. But I know it would be a lot easier to date and start a relationship if I wasn't famous."

Geddy looks like he wants to poke at that, but he turns his head at the sound of someone coming through the front door.

Geddy's roommate, Nancy, is tall with long, straight brown hair. She could easily pass as his sister. She looks pleasantly surprised to see Alex sitting at the table. "Oh, Ged, I thought you and your friend were going out for dinner tonight. Save some for me, will you?"

"Of course," Geddy says.

Nancy approaches Alex's seat and offers her hand. He takes it. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Nancy, Geddy's roommate."

"Alex. Geddy tells me you did the decorating in here? It looks really great."

"Thank you! I have my own design firm downtown." Nancy reaches into her pocket and withdraws a business card. "If you ever need a home decorator, give me a call."

"Do you think she recognized me?" Alex wonders after Nancy has gone upstairs.

"I don't think so."

"Wow, I must look pretty bad, huh?" Alex chuckles to himself. "She seems nice, though. You ever think about it? You and her?"

Geddy's eyes widen. "What? No, no way."

"Why not?"

"'Cause it'd be weird. And if we broke up, I'd have to move out 'cause I'm _her_ roommate, not the other way around. Last one hired, first one fired."

"It might be really nice. But, hey, what do I know?"

Geddy twirls some noodles around his fork, thinking it over. "If I ask her out and she says no, it would just make things weird."

"I made things _super_ weird, and we're fine. Right?"

"Yeah, but we don't live together."

"You knew me, like, a day. You've known Nancy for how long?"

"A year or two."

Alex gestures as if to say 'what are you waiting for?' "If you like her, tell her."

Geddy squirms in his chair. "I haven't had a great track record with that sort of thing."

Alex can't imagine why. Geddy has the kind of beauty that grows on you, a mild attraction that can easily become lust or love or an intermingling of both. But most importantly, he is sweet and caring, his kind-heartedness like a color coming off of him. Within just a minute or two of talking to him, you know immediately he is the kind of person to send flowers to your office for no reason other than love, to keep your photograph in his wallet. He will not take you for granted.

"Because you were in high school, and people are assholes in high school." Alex steals a piece of beef off Geddy's plate and sticks it in his mouth. "You're adults now."

Geddy watches Alex curiously, as if trying to figure him out.

"Oh, sorry." Alex pushes his plate toward Geddy. "You can have some."

Geddy lifts an eyebrow and spears a piece of chicken.

About ten minutes later, Nancy comes back downstairs, dressed in a long t-shirt and flowery pajama pants. Her hair is damp from her shower and smells sweet. She joins them at the table and eats out of the styrofoam containers.

"So, Alex," she says, "how did you and Geddy meet?"

"He interviewed me for his paper."

Nancy studies his face. She looks at Geddy, as though begging an explanation, then back to Alex. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Alex Lifeson? The movie star?"

"Well, no. They usually recognize me." Alex gives her a charming grin.

Nancy gapes at him before turning her head in Geddy's direction. "Why didn't you tell me you were having dinner with a celebrity?"

"'Cause it's not a big deal," Geddy says. "He's just a guy."

"How did he rope you into this?" Nancy asks Alex.

"No rope needed. Geddy's cool."

For some reason, Nancy seems skeptical. "Are we talking about the same person?"

"I only know one Geddy."

Across the table, Geddy looks deflated by Nancy's words, so Alex decides to help him out a bit.

"Hey, Ged, did you tell Nancy about your promotion?"

"You got promoted?" Nancy wonders.

"It's not really a promotion," Geddy tells her, though he's looking at Alex like he blames him for everything. "It's more of a consideration for a promotion. But, um, the higher-ups really liked the article I did on Alex. He doesn't do a lot of interviews, so I guess I got some good information out of him."

"Wow, way to go," Nancy says, patting his arm. She smiles like she's genuinely happy for him, and Geddy noticeably blushes.

After dinner, Nancy bids them goodnight and heads upstairs. Geddy goes out to the back porch for a cigarette. Alex goes with him. He leans on the railing and stares out at the night. There are few planes flying overhead, and the roar of their engines is muted from here. It's quiet, peaceful.

"Y'know, you should try actually talking to Nancy about things," Alex says. "I know you said you don't trust people, but trust is kind of a two-way street. You have to give it to get it."

Geddy takes a long drag off his cigarette and sighs out smoke.

"You don't have to tell her your entire tragic past. Just the little things, like what you did that day or something beautiful you saw—an act of kindness or a sunset or whatever."

"And, what, she'll fall in love with me and not think of me as such a huge nerd anymore?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But more importantly, you'll have a friend you can confide in."

"I thought that was s'posed to be your job."

Alex smiles. "You can't depend on me forever, Ged."


	5. The Analog Kid

Alex is invited to a party Saturday night thrown by one of Charlene's producer friends. He doesn't want to go, but refusing social interaction just to go home and do nothing seems obscene somehow, a confirmation of Alex's pathetic loneliness, so he accepts.

The party is held at a sprawling mansion east of the city. Alex steps through the front door into a giant living room that's more like an auditorium, filled to the brim with attractive people in expensive clothes.

Charlene greets him at the door. "I didn't think you'd come," she says with surprise.

"Then why'd you invite me?"

"I was hoping you would." She takes his arm and leads him through the crowd. "I want you to meet some of my friends." They approach a cluster of tall, pretty women, each girl wearing a spangly, colorful dress. "Guys, this is Alex," Charlene says, introducing him. "The one I was telling you about."

The girls swoon and offer names and handshakes.

"I love your movies!"

"You're my favorite actor!"

"It's an honor to meet you."

Alex smiles and humbly accepts the praise. He realizes Charlene has used her association with him as a way to bolster her own credentials. Deep down, it seems, everyone wants to be liked.

"Alex, how about a drink?" one of the girls, Lauren, offers. She takes his hand before he can reply—her nails are long and perfectly polished—and leads him toward the bar. She orders something fruity; Alex has the same.

"So, are you a friend of Peter's?" Lauren asks.

"Who?" Alex asks, realizing too late she's talking about the host of the party.

"Peter Collins. The producer? This is his house."

"Oh. I'm just here because Charlene invited me."

Lauren raises a perfectly-plucked eyebrow. "Are you two together?"

"No, we're just friends."

Alex has a gut feeling he should have lied, but he's already dealing with one huge lie. No need for another. He has enough trouble keeping things straight with one falsehood on his shoulders.

Lauren effortlessly swivels on her barstool to face him, crosses one leg over the other. He wonders if she's practiced this particular move. "So you don't know the host and you're not dating the girl you came with... What are you here for?"

"A good time?" Alex says with a shrug.

She smiles and finishes her drink. "Come with me."

Alex is compelled to follow her, so he does, pounding down the rest of his drink before setting the empty glass on the bar. Lauren leads him out a pair of French doors and onto a wide patio with a long, rectangular pool. The pool lights make the water glimmer and shine. A few other partygoers mingle nearby.

Lauren sits on an oval-shaped outdoor daybed near the pool. Alex joins her. She reaches into her clutch and withdraws a small baggie of white powder.

"There's no chance that's flour, is there?"

She gives him an icy look. "I thought you wanted to have a good time."

Alex watches silently as Lauren holds out his hand and carefully sets the powder in a line against his knuckle. She leans down and takes it all in through a nostril. She shivers, shoulders jumping a little, as the cocaine hits her bloodstream.

Alex feels like he's in a bad anti-drug PSA. He's no stranger to cocaine—most wrap parties get a little crazy—but he's never liked the morning afters.

Lauren pours a line over her collar bone, intent on leading him to her cleavage. Alex isn't sure he wants to get high, but there's something intoxicating about throwing away the trappings of his typical routine, of doing something reckless. His mind is a jumble of fear, embarrassment, and the pathetic need to please.

Alex puts a hand on her shoulder to hold her still and snorts the dust off her skin. His heart pops and sparkles. The world takes on exciting new textures as his blood races in his veins.

Lauren smiles, reaching out and wiping away the white powdery residue from under Alex's nose.

Alex ends up back inside the house. The music is louder now, the partiers more energetic, all casual indifference pushed aside under the influence of amphetamines. He finds Charlene and her friends. They talk and laugh and dance. Time slows down. Or speeds up. Alex can't tell.

At some point in the night, he does another line with one of Charlene's friends. The powder leaves white stippling on the tan skin of her bosom, and he licks it off. She interprets this as foreplay and eases a hand between his legs. His heart is jackhammering in his chest, his blood pumping feverishly through his body, and he lets her lead him into a dimly lit bedroom that, surprisingly, is not in use.

Her mouth is sweet and supple over his own, against the tender skin of his neck. They end up on the bed, her hips writhing against him, and Alex is horny enough not to care that his sexuality and her genitals are at a crossroads.

This isn't the first time he's engaged in detached, dispassionate sex with a woman under the influence of drugs or his own paranoia of being discovered as a homosexual. Even before fame, he slept with girls who expressed interest in him, because Alex was certain his attraction to men was a temporary blip in his sexual development, that if he had sex with women he'd somehow be "cured." It has never worked, but he's holding out hope for a late-in-the-game miracle.

She hitches up her dress, produces a condom from her purse, and they're off. He lets her take charge, lets her ease her hips down and take him inside. Her hair spills over his chest in waves, and Alex stares up at the cream-colored ceiling, his hands squeezing her ass, feigning interest.

She shrieks and moans as their hips clash, and it doesn't take very long for Alex to finish. His dick isn't used to thrusting in and out of anything other than his own fist, and the hot, pulsing tightness of her body pulls him over the edge. His fingers dig into her skin, and he smothers a moan into her shoulder.

"You don't last long, do you?" she asks, tossing her hair back so she can look at him.

Alex chuckles nervously and says, "Sorry." When the cocaine ebbs, he will remember this moment and feel embarrassed about his lack of stamina, but right now it's kind of funny. "Want me to help you finish?"

She lifts her hips so his cock can flop out, spent and pitiable, onto his stomach. "If you go down on me I'll return the favor."

"Okay, but I'm a biter," Alex bluffs, because he's daunted by the idea, as though his clumsy oral fumbles will signify his fraudulence.

She considers this, then, as though his lackluster performance was an indication of his oral sex skills, shakes her head.

Alex uses his fingers, because this is something he has at least a base familiarity with. He doesn't have the exact equipment, but the idea's the same, right? He slides two fingers in, earning a moan and a nudge of her hips. Alex probes further, his fingers seeking out the spot that will bring her to orgasm. She rocks her hips into the heel of his hand, biting down on soft little noises in her throat.

He wiggles his fingers, spreads them apart, tries all sorts of things to elicit a better reaction. His thumb joins the fray, tender and exploratory, and her head drops back, her gasps intensifying. His name escapes her lips, and Alex has already forgotten hers, which he's blaming on the cocktail of cocaine and alcohol dancing like twin demons in his blood. But this strikes him as unfair, because she is under no risk of forgetting his name, but Alex meets so many people that it's impossible to remember every one.

Alex keeps touching and stroking and sliding until she comes, tight and wet around his fingers as her orgasm shakes her.

After she freshens up and leaves, Alex drags himself into the bathroom to clean himself up. The bathroom is sleek and shiny with windows lining the back wall. The house itself sits on top of a hill, so there's no imminent danger of strangers peering inside, but, really, who can take a shower in front of all those windows? Voyeurs, maybe.

He washes his hands and face, gets soap in his eyes. He leans forward on the countertop and stares at his reflection. He looks strung-out and shitty, nothing like the polished headshots on the magazine covers.

Alex imagines a potential interview on a late night talk show. Johnny Carson, or maybe David Letterman. The audience would applaud and cheer for Alex, enamored by his presence. Letterman would say, "Alex Lifeson, you're the most famous movie star in Canada and becoming more and more popular in the States. What are you going to do next?"

Alex would shrug and say something charming and self-effacing, endearing the viewers to him even more.

Letterman would say, "Acting is about fooling the audience, making them think you're someone you're not. Would you say you became an actor because you've had so much practice lying to everyone?"

"That's a bit of an intrusive question, Dave."

"You lie to everyone. You lie to the women you sleep with, to your friends, even your own parents. Do your parents know you're gay, Alex?"

"I'm not gay. That's ridiculous." Alex would look for approval from the audience, but they would be unyielding, suddenly filled with loathing for him.

"Why do you lie, Alex?"

"Let's go to a commercial."

"You lied to Geddy, too. You're only friends with him because you think he might fall in love with you. You're a pathetic, manipulative asshole."

"Are you allowed to say 'asshole' on US television?" Alex would say, because he always deflects with humor, putting on the clown mask to shield himself.

"You do drugs and go to parties just to fit in and sleep with hot women you're not attracted to. You're twenty-nine years old, Alex, yet you're still ruled by peer pressure. That seems sad and pathetic."

"Why are you—"

"People are going to find out eventually. The paparazzi will catch you with another man, or he'll sell his story to the tabloids, or one of the girls you've slept with will tell the Enquirer you're a lousy screw. And it's all going to tumble down."

Alex wipes his eyes and shudders. He needs more coke.

* * *

Alex wakes up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed. The roar of a vacuum cleaner hovers uncomfortably close to his ear, and it might as well be a jet engine with the way his head's pounding. He pries open the rusted locks his eyelids have become and glances around.

The room is most certainly not his bedroom. He doesn't remember leaving the mansion last night after the party. He doesn't remember the party actually ending. His last memory is a vague recollection of being in a bed with someone. God, he hopes it was a woman. He's wearing all of his clothes, so either there was no sex, or there was but he was dexterous enough to get dressed before blacking out. He's also on top of the sheets and duvet, which doesn't entirely rule out the possibility of sex, but the covers are undisturbed in a way that belies sexual activity.

Early morning light screams through the open blinds, attacking his tender eyes. Alex rises and staggers into the bathroom. He runs some water in his cupped hands and splashes it onto his face, into his cotton-dry mouth. The glint of his wristwatch catches his eye.

Ten o'clock.

Shit.

This is bad. He was supposed to be on set an hour ago.

Alex scrambles past the housekeeper vacuuming in the hallway, through the giant sunken living room and out the door.

On set, Danniels is apoplectic when Alex arrives. He's yelling and waving his arms like he's trying to fly. The vein in his forehead throbs. "You spoiled primadonna dickhead! Do you know what time it is? You were supposed to be here an hour and a half ago!"

"I know, I'm sorry—"

"And you look like shit! Jesus, if you're gonna waltz in here looking like something that crawled out of a grave, at least have the decency to show up on time!"

Alex doesn't bother arguing, because he has no footing here. He fucked up, and he just has to deal with it. But Danniels won't fire him. The studio sank too much money getting Alex to sign onto this film. Letting him go would be a financial death sentence.

Alex sulks his way into the makeup chair. Charlene tags along for the details about last night.

"What happened?" she asks.

"Nothing."

"You look pretty wrecked for 'nothing.'"

"A less secure person would take all these mean comments about his appearance to heart."

Charlene sighs.

"Alright, I might've gone a bit overboard," Alex admits. "Who hasn't? It won't happen again. I've learned my lesson."

So when Alex is invited by Hugh to another party the following weekend, he knows exactly what do to. He calls Geddy.

"Hey, what're you doing tonight? No, wait, don't answer that. I know. You're sitting on the couch watching Dallas and eating take-out."

Geddy huffs an offended noise. "That's entirely off-base. I could have a date. I could have plans. You don't know my life."

"Knight Rider?"

Geddy mumbles something that sounds like 'lucky guess.' "What do you want, Alex?"

"Come to a party with me. I'll drive. There'll be tons of big names, so you can put your little reporter hat on and get a front-page-worthy scoop."

"We don't actually wear hats. And no self-respecting reporter says 'scoop' anymore. This isn't the 1920s."

"Fine, Mr. Grumpy-Pants. Go because there'll be a lot of good-looking women there. Get your confidence up. Ask a girl out. Live a little, for God's sake."

"Remember who you're talking to. A man's reach shouldn't exceed his grasp."

"I'll bet you a thousand dollars at least one woman there will be interested in you."

Geddy sighs. "As much as that would be the easiest thousand dollars I'd ever make, I think I'm gonna pass."

"Ged, please?" Alex begs, dragging out the words. "If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me. Chaperone me and make sure I don't do anything stupid."

"I thought that was Neil's job."

"Well, yeah, but he can threaten me all he wants, but I know he won't do jack. You I'm actually afraid of."

"What?" Geddy says, and Alex hears the curl of a smile in his voice. "You're afraid of me?"

"Enough to get the job done, yeah."

"Wow." Geddy goes quiet for a moment, thinking it over. "Alright, if it means that much to you."

* * *

"I did something stupid," Alex admits as he's driving Geddy into North York for the party that night. "Well, actually, a lot of stupid things."

"You're not about to tell me your life story, are you?"

Alex laughs. "No. Not yet, anyway. But the last time I was at a party—and don't print any of this—I did too much cocaine and had anonymous sex, and passed out in the bedroom and was late to my shoot. You can see why I might not want a repeat show."

Geddy ponders this for a moment. "Can sex with you truly be anonymous?"

"Well, it was for me. I don't remember her name."

"You slept with a woman?" Geddy gasps, sounding scandalized.

"Yes, Ged, sometimes we have opposite-sex relations to maintain that thin veneer of heterosexuality. Or just to get off. I'm not proud of it, but there you go."

Geddy props his elbow against the passenger side door, resting his head in his hand as he watches the suburbs roll by under the blanket of darkness and speckled lights. "I hope you don't expect me to feel sorry for you. You're having more sex with more beautiful women than I'll ever even know, much less have a chance with."

Alex forms a response and tells himself not to say it, but he says it anyway, like he's out of control. "You expect me to feel sorry for _you_? What's the worst thing that happens if you ask a girl out? She tells you no? Tough shit. I can't even ask a guy out because of what it might do to my career. But if I wasn't famous? I ask the wrong guy, and I'm picking my teeth off the ground, and that's if I'm lucky and his friends don't jump me when I leave the bar. You're so goddamn lucky, and you don't even know it."

Alex has no idea where the fuck that came from. A dangerous place he rarely goes, a pathetic place where you gather up all your resentments and self-pity and anger.

Geddy has gone disturbingly silent, blinking rapidly to clear the wetness from his eyes. "You're right. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"No, it's—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—See, this is what I'm talking about. I go to these things, and something opens a wound. A couple on the patio laughing about something. Someone talking about how great their life is going. Just something small, but it depresses me, and I want to feel good and just forget, so I do stupid shit like drugs and sex, trying to chase down that happiness."

Geddy breaks the tension by pointing out, "You said 'penis.'"

Alex laughs again. "Thanks."

"So why do you go to these parties if all that comes out of them are regrettable life choices?"

"Let's see... Because I'm an idiot?"

"Try again."

Alex searches his soul for a better answer. "'Cause I think it will be different this time. The sunk cost fallacy. It's why gamblers lose all their money. They figure they've already lost this much, why walk away now? I don't know when to quit."

"That's better."

"So how do I fix it?"

"I'm a journalist, not a psychologist."

"Your mom is a psychologist," Alex reminds him.

"Yeah, she's the one with the degree. I'm not qualified to talk about this stuff."

Alex scoffs, playful, and says, "Useless."

They pass by exclusive golf clubs and expansive homes with pompous names like Woodland Hollow Estate and Henderson Manor. Alex could have a house like this. Lifeson Manor. He likes the sound of that.

They arrive at the mansion and step inside. Alex gives Geddy a small smile, determined to help him from feeling like he doesn't belong here, because Geddy is every bit as smart and funny and charming as these people.

People smile and wave as Alex walks in, greeting him with warm hugs and handshakes. Alex nods in acceptance and gratitude of their appreciation. He introduces Geddy, but the crowds are indifferent, almost bemused that someone as famous as Alex would bring a journalist along.

On the right is a staircase with an ornate, wrought-iron handrail and a crystal chandelier hanging at the top. Alex immediately leads them toward the bar.

"Are you sure you should be drinking?" Geddy asks, sounding almost parental.

"I'll be fine."

"This is how it starts, isn't it? Alex, alcohol is a depressant. It's just gonna make you feel worse and fuel this cycle you go through every time."

Alex stops walking to affix Geddy with an amused look. "So you're a scientist now?"

Geddy folds his arms over his chest. "You brought me here to be your chaperone. I'm just doing my job."

"You're the boss," Alex says, and Geddy makes an annoyed prissy face at his sarcasm.

They take a quick tour of the house, interrupted by the occasional fan who greets Alex and introduces themselves. Only an extravagant mansion would have rooms with names like "sitting room" or "study," or, get this: "leisure room." The lighting is low and dim to enhance intimacy, or perhaps foster it.

"How come you don't have a house like this?" Geddy wonders.

"I could. I bought the penthouse after 2112 got big. I haven't had the time to check out other places." Alex looks around at the rustic Italian design. "Fuckin' rich people, man. You ever been around here before?"

"Actually, this isn't too far from where I grew up."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Willowdale."

"You were a rich kid," Alex says with a grin. That would explain why Geddy isn't fazed by Alex's wealth.

"Not really. We were comfortable, I guess. But my dad was always frugal so my brother and I never caught on. He said kids with money have a harder time learning responsibility."

"Your dad's a smart guy."

"He was."

"Oh shit. I'm sorry."

They amble out the patio doors and into the backyard, where the massive pool glows neon blue courtesy of the lights. A lithe, tan blonde wearing a bikini lies on a pool float atop the water. Small groups of well-dressed guests mill about. The occasional clink of glasses can be heard.

"So you've got a brother?" Alex drops into a poolside chair. Geddy does the same.

"Yeah, but he moved to New York, like any successful Canadian."

"Hey."

Geddy smiles. "You're an outlier. But he works in film, too. Though he just does post-production stuff."

"Are you close?"

"Not really. We don't talk very often. Just holidays, usually. Growing up I kind of resented him."

"Was he the popular, cool kid?"

"No, he was the popular, cool nerd. He got into the jocks' good graces by being smart. He'd let them cheat off his tests so they passed their classes. Same thing with the popular girls." Geddy considers this. "Actually, I _hated_ him back then."

It's then that Hugh finds Alex. He's carrying a drink in one hand and a joint in the other. "Alex! No coke benders tonight?"

Alex is irritated that, somehow, word about last week's incident has spread. "Not yet, but the night is young."

Hugh laughs. "Amen to that." He takes a drink and says, "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, this is Geddy. He's a journalist for the Toronto Globe and Mail."

Hugh lifts an eyebrow, looking at Geddy, then turns his gaze to Alex. "You invited a reporter to a showbiz party. You sure you're not high?"

"As sure as I can be. Besides, Geddy's not here as a reporter. He's here as a friend."

Hugh laughs a cruel sound. "You make friends with reporters? You should know better. Be careful who you tell your secrets to. They're parasites." He tosses a glance at Geddy. "No offense."

Alex wants to say something snarky that will cut Hugh down to size, but verbal smackdowns only work in the movies. In the real world, life is filled with moments where you just have to grit your teeth and take the bullshit. Sure, Hugh is an asshole, but he's also Alex's co-worker. The satisfaction Alex would get from telling Hugh to eat a dick is temporary, but Alex will have to work with Hugh on set for a few more weeks, and after receiving a "sick burn" Hugh's douchebaggery would just get worse, because he'd have revenge as a motivation.

So Alex swallows back his resentment and forces up a smile. "Then you better move along. Geddy's a pretty charming guy. I've already gotten sucked in, but it's not too late for you!" He outstretches an arm in a dramatic way. "Save yourself!"

Hugh shakes his head with a derisive chuckle. He raises the joint into view. "You sure you don't want a hit?"

"I brought my own," Alex lies, patting his pockets like they're stuffed with dope.

"Suit yourself," Hugh says before heading toward the house and leaving them be.

Geddy glances over his shoulder, making sure Hugh is out of earshot before he turns to Alex and says, "What a dickhead."

Alex has never heard Geddy say that before, and it makes him laugh. "Yeah. I'm sorry he was a jerk to you."

"Maybe he's right. Maybe I shouldn't be here."

"Fuck him. And fuck anyone else who thinks you don't belong here. They're all fake anyway."

"So why do you come? If you don't respect these people, why do you want their approval?"

"Because I'm fake too."

The soft breeze rustles Geddy's hair, and he neatly tucks it back into place with thin, practiced fingers. "You lie about one thing. But your personality, the stuff that counts, you seem genuine."

Alex is about to respond to that, about to say something honest and real, but he's pulled away by a roving cluster of admirers, and the moment is lost.

Alex loses track of Geddy at some point in the night, having been dragged inside the house and jostled from crowd to crowd, introduced to excited socialites playing casual when his name is dropped. Through each quick intermission, he searches the room for Geddy but doesn't find him.

Eventually, Alex ends up in the pool with a martini in hand, bobbing atop the turquoise water on the plastic float. Tonight, the sky is cobalt black and freckled with stars. It is a wonderful night to disappear. He floats aimlessly over the water for some time, the thumping music and laughter from the house fading into background noise.

A familiar voice cuts through Alex's haze: "Enjoying yourself?"

Alex blinks his eyes open to see Geddy standing at the edge of the pool, wearing a curious expression.

"My building has a pool on the roof. I really should use it more."

Geddy pulls up a chair and sits. "I see you managed to find a drink."

"Have a heart. It's my only one of the night."

"Well, you seem to have kept yourself out of trouble so far, so I'll allow it."

"You'll 'allow' it? You're not my dad!"

Geddy huffs a quiet laugh that disappears in the breeze. "I've been thinking about what you said earlier. You asked how to fix what's wrong with you. I'm not certain, but I have some ideas."

Alex tosses an arm out. "I am but clay in your hands. Mold me, Ged."

Geddy makes a face. "Don't ever say that again."

"'Kay."

"Anyway, I think you should stop going to these parties. Obviously, they're doing more harm than good for you. You've already admitted you're like a chronic gambler, perpetually rolling the dice 'cause he thinks he's going to get something better this time. So just fold your hand and walk away."

"You're mixing metaphors like a Cuisinart, but go on."

"You go to these things to fill a hole inside of you. And maybe it works for a while, but eventually the hole opens again and you're repeating the cycle."

"I think Freud would have a lot to say about this conversation," Alex jokes, feeling caged in by Geddy's analysis.

Geddy shakes his head. "It's not phallic enough. But my point is, let's try replacing the parties with constructive activities. Find things that enrich you instead of drag you down."

Alex takes a sip of his drink, the fingers of his free hand skimming over the water. "Alright, Mr. Life Coach. What do you suggest?"

"Well, you said you like to paint and play tennis. You could do something with that. Or we could go wine-tasting."

"'We'?" Alex says, cocking an eyebrow.

"Someone has to make sure you're doing this. Unless you'd rather bring Neil along."

"Neil can come too, since you guys are already friends." Alex finishes the rest of his drink and sets the empty glass by the edge of the pool. "So you'll bust my balls for drinking a martini but wine-tasting is totally cool?"

Geddy pouts at him, which is really adorable, and he should probably stop doing that if he doesn't want Alex falling for him. "You're welcome to suggest something, then."

"Well, Neil likes skiing..."

"Now if only there were snow."

Alex scoffs and rolls his eyes like Geddy's being unreasonable.

"I'll make a list," Geddy says. "And you can scratch off anything you don't like."

"Why are you helping me?" Alex wonders after a moment.

"I was under the impression that we're friends. And, as you pointed out earlier this evening, it's not like I've got anything better to do."

"Boo," Alex jeers like he's at a sports arena. "You should unfuck your own life before you try unfucking mine."

"But you're a national treasure. My hands are tied."

"I knew fame was a curse." Alex slaps at the water, splashing Geddy's slacks.

"Watch where you're splashing that."

"Come in and stop me." It leaves his mouth before Alex realizes that could be considered kind of flirty.

"I'd rather stay dry."

Alex sighs, staring up at the sky. "I think I'm ready to go home. How 'bout you?"

"I'm just the chaperone," Geddy says with a shrug.


	6. Subdivisions

The days begin to blur together, and at some point in the week Geddy calls and says, "If you're still interested in enriching your social life, I have today's Jays game taped if you wanna come over and watch."

"You're assuming I don't already know who won."

Geddy sighs, already frustrated with him. "I haven't watched it yet. And if I watch it by myself you're just gonna think I'm a pathetic loner anyway."

"I would never say that," Alex protests. "I mean, in a non-joking way." He looks at the clock. "Alright. I'll come over."

Thirty minutes later, Geddy answers the door promptly, as though he's been waiting anxiously for Alex to arrive. "There's leftover pizza if you're hungry," he says when Alex steps inside.

"You were banking on me showing up, huh?"

"I have a roommate, remember?"

"Speaking of which, how's that going? You two get any closer?"

"You have a disturbing amount of interest in my sex life."

Alex scoffs and pulls the pizza out of the fridge. "So that's a no?"

Geddy huffs in annoyance, planting his hands on his hips in a gesture that does zero favors for his heterosexuality.

"Where is Nancy, by the way?" Alex asks through a mouthful of lukewarm pizza, navigating his way to the couch.

"Out. With friends."

"If you keep waiting around, eventually you run out of time."

"I'd rather keep my housing situation." Geddy eases onto the couch beside Alex, a comfortable yet friendly distance away. "I'm sure you know all about the importance of swallowing back a crush for the sake of a friendship."

"Touché."

During the first inning, Geddy asks, "So are you into sports at all?"

"Ged, I'm an actor. We're not known for our athleticism. That's the stuntmen's job."

"You don't have to be athletic to like _watching_ sports. I mean, look at me."

"Point taken. I don't really follow any teams. I probably should. Help maintain the illusion."

"Well, you came to the right place. I'm a little obsessed with baseball," Geddy says with a twinge of chagrin. "Out of the Canadian teams, the Jays are in better standings than the Expos. But we're playing the Orioles here, who are at the top of the American League right now with 23 to 15."

Alex twists open a beer. "So I'm s'posed to root for Toronto, right?"

"You don't have to. Part of the fun is finding multiple teams you like so you have a grander stake in the World Series. The Yankees are easy money; they usually win their division each year. The Orioles are having a pretty good season. If they keep it up, they'll definitely make it to the Series."

Alex takes a long drink of beer and just listens. It turns out that Geddy can indeed talk at length about baseball, and he's even more endearing when he's chattering on about something he enjoys, something he's knowledgeable about. His characteristic shyness doesn't kick in until the bottom of the second inning when he realizes he's been going on and on.

"Sorry. Bit of an information overload, huh?"

Alex smiles and snags another slice of pizza. "I can keep up." He takes a bite. "Seriously, Ged, what the hell are these toppings?"

"Spinach and mushroom."

Alex makes a gagging noise. "Rabbit food doesn't belong on pizza."

"Nancy's on this vegetarian diet," Geddy explains. "And I can't eat pepperoni or bacon, so I don't have a lot of options."

"I'm just giving you shit," Alex chuckles, taking another bite. "No one seriously complains about free pizza."

"You sounded pretty serious."

"Acting," Alex says around the rim of his beer bottle.

Nancy comes home during the seventh inning when the score is 3-0. She looks surprised, to say the least, that Alex Lifeson is sitting there on the couch.

"Alex... Good to see you again."

"Heya."

Nancy moves toward them, leaning against the back of the couch to look at the TV. "Geddy, did you tape the game so you could watch it with Alex?"

"No," Geddy says, his face turning a tell-tale shade of pink. "That's stupid. Why would I do that?"

"Then he just happened to come over while you were watching it by yourself?"

Alex drops his head against the back of the couch to look at her, albeit upside down. "Geddy's my life coach. He's finding constructive activities for me to do."

Nancy smiles at him. "That in no way makes you sound like a child who can't be left unsupervised."

"I'm a celebrity. There isn't much of a difference."

She snickers. "Who knew Canada's Sweetheart was such a wiseass?"

"Well, you wouldn't, really. My ass isn't on the magazine covers."

Geddy buries his face in his hands, like his parents are embarrassing him in front of his prom date. "Alex, please don't talk about your ass when there's a lady present."

Nancy playfully swats the back of Geddy's head. "Don't be a prude. Maybe the _lady_ wants to hear about it." She ruffles Alex's hair as she walks past the couch and to the stairs. "Have fun with your 'constructive activities.'"

Alex waits until Nancy has disappeared into her bedroom before looking at Geddy in a pointed way.

"No," Geddy grumbles, reading the intentions on Alex's face.

"You never know if you don't try."

"That's not always true. I know she would laugh in my face if I asked her out."

"Seriously? I mean, I've only spoken to her, like, twice, but I don't think she's that much of a jerk."

Geddy shakes his head. "She's not. I'm the problem."

Alex deflates like someone let the air out of him, sinking into the couch and making exasperated noises with his mouth. "Geddy, if you want girls to like you you're gonna have to stop being such a self-defeating mess. For example, I'm confident enough to think literally everyone in any given room is attracted to me. Maybe it's true, maybe it isn't, but that confidence is sexy. That's the kind of hubris you need to have."

Geddy considers that for a moment and throws Alex a totally unanticipated question. "Have you ever..." He makes vague hand gestures, and Alex has no idea what the fuck that's about. "With a guy?"

"No way. By the time I figured out I was gay and not just a really, really late bloomer, I was too famous to risk it."

Geddy looks disheartened by this. "Do you think maybe the reason women like you is 'cause you don't care if they do? I mean, most guys drive themselves crazy trying to impress girls, and they usually fail spectacularly. So maybe 'cause you don't talk to women with the endgame of getting them in bed, you get them to like you?"

"It's possible," Alex says, reaching into the pizza box for the last slice. "Or maybe it's 'cause I'm a total dreamboat."

They deal in light-hearted banter throughout the rest of the game until the end of the ninth inning with the Jays' score at 5-0.

"Wow," Alex says. "I'm kind of embarrassed for the Orioles. Not even one run? I thought they were at the top of their league."

"It happens sometimes. And who knows? Maybe they'll beat us when we go to Baltimore next month."

"I guess we'll see."

"We play the Red Sox at home next weekend," Geddy says, like he's going somewhere with this. "Would you wanna go to the game?"

"As part of my life enrichment program?" Alex chuckles. "I dunno. Seems like a prime situation to be hounded for autographs. I like the private, insular thing we've got here."

"I can work with that," Geddy says. "I'll call Neil, see if he has any ideas. Maybe he can set something up."

Alex checks the clock. It's late. He shouldn't impose on Geddy's time any more than he already has. He wipes his hands on his jeans and stands up. "Well, I guess I should get going. Thanks for the free food and entertainment. I feel like I should pay you."

"I'm not a hooker," Geddy says with playful disdain.

"If you were, you're a shitty one. Not even a handjob?"

Geddy's cheeks flush, and Alex grins.

"I'll see you around, Ged," Alex says before showing himself out.

* * *

Their next activity is a private wine tasting in Niagara-on-the-Lake. Neil accompanies them, because "I don't trust Alex when alcohol is involved," which Alex finds a bit impugning on his character. But he's secretly glad Neil is there in case he gets drunk and accidentally puts the moves on Geddy. Not that he _would_ , but, hey, insurance is nice.

The winery isn't too far from the shoreline, and even from the parking lot Alex can see Lake Ontario sparkling in the sun and the cityscape of Toronto in the distance. They spend a good deal of time in the tasting bar before Alex buys a bottle of red wine, then they find a nice spot along the coast to sit and sip.

Alex and Geddy pass the bottle between them, because Neil is the designated driver. Alex tries not to think too much about the intimacy required for the indirect kiss they're sort of sharing.

"It's beautiful here," Geddy says quietly, watching seagulls hover over the crisp azure water. "I've always wanted to take the trip, but I never found the time."

"So I guess this is a mutual life enrichment program, huh?"

Geddy smiles and gingerly takes the bottle from Alex's fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm probably not good to drive, but that's what Neil's for."

"No, I mean, the hole."

Alex places a hand on his chest and gasps. "Why, Geddy, I never knew you were interested in my hole."

Geddy rolls his eyes, giving Alex a friendly punch in the arm. "Fuck off. You know what I mean."

Alex does. Geddy takes a drink, and Alex watches his mouth, the way his throat moves when he swallows.

"I feel okay, I guess," Alex says after a moment, his hair fluttering in the sea breeze. "I like being with you. You don't have a stake in my well-being." He glances over his shoulder, ensuring Neil is out of earshot. "Neil's my manager, so of course he needs me to have my shit together. But you already got your interview, so as far as I can tell you're doing all this out of the goodness of your heart. Or maybe you really are interested in my hole." Alex grins when Geddy blushes. "I'm easy, Ged. Just say the word."

Geddy huffs wryly and jerks the bottle away from Alex when he reaches for it. "I think you've had enough." Alex pouts at him, and Geddy ends up handing the bottle over anyway.

Alex takes a drink, gleefully savoring the lingering warmth of Geddy's mouth on the rim.

"You remind me of myself when I was younger," Geddy says. "Unsure of where you belong, never really fitting in."

Alex cocks an eyebrow. "That's an... interesting analysis."

"You told me you fake your confidence," Geddy points out. "And all your anxieties about parties are because you don't fit in. Square peg, round hole."

Alex considers making a dirty joke out of that, but he thinks Geddy's onto something here. "Then where? People who aren't famous just fawn too much."

"I think Nancy and I are particularly non-fawning types. I'm sure there are more 'normies' who wouldn't make a huge deal out of your fame."

"So you don't get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside that a celebrity wants to hang out with you?"

"Why should I? We're all just people, deep down. Anyone could be famous if they put their mind to it. I could be famous."

"Then why aren't you?"

"I'm too shy," Geddy says with a tiny, remorseful smile. "And sensitive. I can't imagine making one little mistake and having it plastered across every magazine cover. And then when you try to defend yourself they paint you even worse."

Alex swallows thickly. His stomach does somersaults. "Well, hopefully that won't happen to me."

"It will," Geddy says with certainty. "The sharks come out eventually. The bigger you are, the harder you fall."

Alex steadies his shaking hand for another drink.


	7. New World Man

Next week involves a game of tennis at an indoor court Alex knows very well. When Geddy shows up, Alex is momentarily stunned by the sight of him in shorts, and he's lost in a fantasy of pushing those long, bare legs apart in bed before Geddy's voice startles him back to reality.

"Don't objectify me," Geddy says with a tiny smile.

Alex scoffs. "I wasn't."

"Well, you certainly weren't looking at my eyes."

"You can ogle me if it makes you feel better."

"Very unlikely."

It turns out that Geddy is pretty damn good at tennis, good enough to make Alex step up his game in an attempt to impress him. But Geddy is deceptively strong and quick, able to lob the ball over the net faster than Alex can return it.

"I thought you said you played before," Geddy teases as the ball bounces idly down Alex's side of the court.

"I also said I'm not much of a sports guy," Alex grumbles. He grabs the ball and tosses it into the air a few times.

"You should've told me to go easy on you."

Alex scowls and sends the ball over the net. "Don't patronize me."

Geddy smacks the ball back with dizzying speed. "I'm just trying to help."

Alex scrambles to make the serve, getting the edge of his racquet underneath the ball and flinging it over the net. Geddy offers up a return serve with almost no effort at all; his body moves purposefully, efficiently, like it was built for this.

"This is 'going easy' on me?" Alex wonders, out of breath as he chases the ball bouncing down the court.

Geddy just smirks.

During their third match, Alex has gotten the hang of Geddy's strategy, though he's still not able to match his agility.

While serving up the ball, Geddy asks, "How did you know you were gay, Alex?"

Alex is taken aback by the question. "Um, 'cause I wanted to kiss guys and not girls?"

Geddy fumbles the return serve, a first for him. The ball hits his side of the net and springs back onto the court. He picks it up as though it's in danger of breaking. "Oh... How old were you?"

"I dunno, around the time 2112 got big. So... 24? I was in denial for a long time. I figured eventually I'd meet the right girl and everything would work out."

"Were you attracted to a lot of guys? Or just a few?"

Alex smacks the ball over the net. This line of questioning has Geddy making a lot of mistakes, which Alex is totally taking advantage of. "Well, a few movie stars and musicians. But there were some guys I knew at school, a co-star or two. You're not attracted to every woman you see, are you?"

"No," Geddy mumbles, the word lost in the crack of the serve.

"Well, there you go."

"Sorry, I was just curious."

"Are you going through a sexual identity crisis, Ged?" Alex teases. "It's okay. I'm irresistible. People see me, they want me. It's a curse I live with every day of my life."

Geddy snorts. "Whatever you say."

* * *

During Alex's next day on set, he is reminded that the movie will start filming on-location in West Vancouver next week. He is handed call sheets with locations and need-to-know information to prepare him for each shoot. He means to relay this information to Geddy, because this will really put a damper on their time together, but it continuously slips his mind.

On Friday, Alex's performance is on point. He breezes through his lines with stunning accuracy and emphasis, as though completely in tune with his character. Retakes are never his fault; someone else flubs a line, a boom mic descends into a shot. He doesn't know how he's nailing his performance here, but it's like he's on another plane. He's chalking it up to a fluke.

As filming wraps at the end of the day, Danniels sits in his chair, wearing the expression of a man truly fascinated by where his directorial journey is taking him. "Alex, you're brilliant," he says, his voice filling the set. "How do you do it?" He asks the room, "How's this guy do it?"

Charlene says, "He's got some experience, I guess."

Hugh, arms folded over his chest, offers a shrug.

"That's very nice of you to say," Alex says, oddly uncomfortable at being praised in front of his peers. "But Hugh and Charlene are good too."

"Thank God you're not stuck up your own ass like so many of these other Hollywood assholes," Danniels says.

"There's still time," Alex jokes. Danniels and Charlene laugh. Hugh doesn't.

The next day, Neil volunteers to let Alex and Geddy use his yacht, with the stipulation that he supervises their outing. Alex has no problem with this, so Neil shows up at the waterfront with the Rocinante—"the most pretentious name ever, Pratt," Alex reminds him—and lets the two board.

Neil owns a home on the Toronto Islands, so that's where they set sail. The water is a sparkling cerulean color, the breeze light and airy. Alex and Geddy sit on deck and sip a chilled bottle of wine while Neil lingers nearby. The ever-present chaperone.

"I've never been on a yacht before," Geddy says in reverent awe.

"See? There's perks to being friends with me."

"Except the downside is your constant flirting."

Alex snickers. "Tell me it doesn't boost your confidence even a little to hear that Canada's biggest movie star thinks you're cute."

Neil's eyes widen in stunned shock. "Alex, Geddy knows you're..." He trails off, as though saying the word will bring about the apocalypse.

"Yeah, he's super-cool about it."

"Well, that's great," Neil says, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "I suppose I can ask you this in our, uh, mixed company. I have a friend who's very discreet and interested in a date with you."

"Well, who wouldn't be?"

Geddy huffs an amused sound and rolls his eyes.

Neil goes on. "His name is John Rutsey. He lives on the Islands. He's a musician."

"Is he cute?"

Neil makes a face. "You know I'm not a good judge of that."

"You don't have to be gay to know if a guy is good-looking."

Neil chooses not to argue with that one. "Well, I think you'll like him."

"Yeah, tell him I'm game."

"I'll call him when we get to shore. Maybe he's free tonight."

"Ooh." Alex's expression brightens. "That'd be awesome. I wouldn't mind getting laid tonight. He's easy, right?"

"Why would I know that?" Neil asks with a bit of frustration.

"Hey, he's _your_ friend." Alex pouts and settles back against the chair. He flashes Geddy an eager grin. "Speaking of dates..."

"Don't," Geddy groans, covering his face with a hand.

"I wasn't gonna hit on you."

"I know."

"C'mon, Ged, you can't spend all your time with me. People might think we're an item." Alex winks, and Geddy's mouth does that cute pouty thing again.

"But what would happen to your life enrichment program if I started dating?"

"You could bring Nancy along. Our little outings would probably look a lot less gay with a girl around."

"Why do you assume it'll be Nancy?"

"Because, fucking duh, Geddy."

Geddy shakes his head like the pathetic defeatist he is. "I think I'm gonna hold off on that for a bit..." His voice has a weird quality to it that Alex has never heard before.

Alex groans a long noise of irritation. "Ged, you're killin' me."

They dock at a marina on Centre Island. Neil finds a payphone to call John while Alex and Geddy take in the scenery.

"Now I get why Neil's always so irritated when he has to come to the city," Alex says, leaning against the wooden railing. "This place seems really nice." There is more bright, vibrant greenery here than Alex has seen in a while.

"Reminds me of Hawaii," Geddy says.

"Oh, you've been?"

"Well, no, but this is what I imagine it would look like."

Alex chuckles and stares at the distant Toronto cityscape. "It's weird, isn't it? How much we only know because of movies. We think we know what other places are like 'cause we've seen them on TV, but in reality most of that stuff is filmed on sets in studio lots in New York or California. And cop shows are always about chasing down criminals and getting into shootouts with gangs, but in real life it's mostly traffic stops and paperwork."

"Well, they have to cut out the boring parts, otherwise no one would watch," Geddy points out.

"I know. It's just weird to think about how we all have the same mental picture of how a place we've never been to looks. Just based off movies and TV."

"You're awfully contemplative for a big-shot movie star."

"I'm more than just a pretty face."

Geddy's cheeks flush pink, and he glances away, feigning an intense interest in the buildings beyond the sea.

Neil approaches them in their moment of comfortable silence. "Today's your lucky day, Alex. John says he's free today, and he'll meet you at the café at six."

"I have no idea where that is."

"I'll show you. It's not too far from my house. But until then, you want me to show you and Geddy around?"

"Yeah! Ged, is that okay with you?"

Geddy looks flustered, like his plans have been indelibly altered and he doesn't know how to handle it. "Um, yeah, that's fine."

They pile into Neil's car for an extensive tour of the islands. Neil shows them around the theme park, which is kind of dinky and clearly intended for kids. Then they head south for a look at the park with luscious trees and huge water fountains. To the west is a stone lighthouse and a calming beach. Ward's Island lies on the far east, which encases the cozy little neighborhood where Neil makes his home. The houses are cute and quaint, tucked away in forestry that makes the area feel like a Hobbit village.

When the sun takes on a dreamy orange creamsicle glow, Neil shows Alex to the café; Geddy tags along quietly. The building is a blue house with rustic country charm. There are multi-colored flowers around the entrance, and groups of wooden, outdoor tables on either side. Inside, couples sit at tables and sip drinks. Most everyone is wearing shorts and t-shirts or godawful Hawaiian prints like they're on the set of Magnum, P.I.. Alex feels a tad overdressed in his white slacks, blazer, and an open-throated shirt.

"Are you sure this isn't too date-y?" Alex murmurs to Neil, who's leading him to a booth near the back. A few patrons turn their heads to stare at the celebrity who has graced their presence, but no one seems willing to get up and ask him for an autograph. Yet.

"It's fine. Everyone comes here for everything. No one will know unless you stick your tongue down the guy's throat."

"Depends on how hot he is," Alex says.

Geddy makes a gagging noise.

Alex looks at Geddy and grins, leaning in to say, "Maybe if he plays his cards right!"

Geddy's mouth drops open in shock—disgust?—at the dirty joke, his cheeks flaring up red.

John is already seated at the booth, and he's over-dressed too, which makes Alex feel a little better. He has brown hair and a youthful appearance, his features round and cherubic. "You must be Alex," he says, his voice kind of shaking, and if he's nervous about dating a celebrity he's not doing a great job of hiding it.

"Ta-da!" Alex slides into the booth opposite John. "Neil's told me quite a lot about you. So don't let me down." He grins, and his light tone and manner seem to put John at ease.

Geddy looks kind of judgmental, which Alex tries not to feel wounded by. But it still hurts that Geddy can't accept this part of him, that he looks upon Alex's sexuality with disgust. It's not like Alex _chose_ to be attracted to men.

"I'll keep Geddy busy in the meantime," Neil says. "Just have John drop you off at my place when you're done."

"You know where he lives?" Alex asks John, sort of shocked that Neil has actual friends who aren't work-related.

"This place isn't exactly a bustling metropolis," John says. "And we're friends, so he's invited me over a few times."

"No," Alex gasps.

Neil, sensing the date has already begun, says, "I'll leave you two alone. You guys have fun," and sort of pulls Geddy away. Alex isn't sure what he sees on Geddy's face in those last couple moments before he faces forward.

The menu is standard beach grill fare; Alex orders a pineapple-rum cocktail and a fried chicken and cole slaw sandwich; John opts for a beer and a lobster roll.

"I had no idea you and Neil were friends," John says.

Alex is kind of disappointed that Neil doesn't talk about him, but Alex is probably such a pain in Neil's ass he wants to forget he exists every once in a while.

"He's my manager-slash-chaperone-slash-bodyguard."

"I can understand the need for a bodyguard, but a chaperone?"

"Neil doesn't think I can be trusted in public by myself," Alex says with a hint of mischief.

John's mouth quirks into a half-smile. "And why not?"

"'Cause I act like a goofball and have foot-in-mouth syndrome. I think he's overreacting, but I don't really mind it. The company's nice."

"Do you always tell him where you're going?"

"Hell no. I sneak off sometimes. And usually end up proving his point."

John takes a long pull from his beer. He's dressed like Alex, with a blazer thrown over a brightly-colored shirt, matching slacks and slip-on shoes. MTV chic. He probably took great pains figuring out what to wear on a date with a movie star. _Don't let him be another self-centered jerk,_ John has thought.

After their food arrives—and the waitress politely fawns over Alex—John says, "Do you get that a lot?"

Alex nods, his mouth already full of delicious sandwich.

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Sometimes. I mean, I can't really complain 'cause it's all nice stuff. What's the alternative? Being told you suck?"

"I would think the alternative is not being recognized at all."

Alex considers that. "I guess I wouldn't mind."

"I thought celebrities get mad when no one recognizes them."

"Just the washed-up ones." Alex wipes his hands on a napkin. "But, whatever, enough about me. Neil says you're a musician?"

"Neil exaggerates," John says, suddenly shy. "I'm a drummer, but I don't really play in any bands since I can't tour. It's just a hobby. I own a music store in the city. But Neil plays, too, so that's probably one of the reasons we clicked."

Alex blinks hurriedly, certain he's misheard. "Neil plays? Like... music?"

"Yeah, he has a pretty complicated-looking drumset in his house." John tilts his head. "You've never seen it?"

"I've never been _in_ his house!" Upon further inspection, Alex can totally see why Neil kept this little nugget of information hidden, because if Alex knew Neil played drums he would absolutely want to hear him play.

"I can't believe he's never invited you over," John says, in genuine disbelief.

It's true; all of Alex's meetings with Neil take place in the city. This is the first time Alex has even been in close proximity to Neil's house. During the tour of the Islands, Neil brought them round his neighborhood, but they never actually went inside the house, just lounged on the porch swing.

"He probably thinks I'll break something," Alex says.

"Are you clumsy?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Neil never told me he was your manager. In fact, the other day was the first time he ever brought up that he knew you. So I guess he only reveals information on a need-to-know basis."

It's probably not a good sign that their date conversation has revolved around an oblivious third party. This preoccupation seems like they're trying to dance around their own insecurities or unwillingness to be vulnerable.

Alex changes the subject, then John is talking about his family, about TV shows Alex has never seen, his past as a drummer for a garage band. Alex listens and nods and drifts.

They're missing a vital component here, the underlying current of sexual attraction that draws two people to each other. John's a sweet, intelligent guy, and he's not unattractive by any means, but the spark isn't there. At least not for Alex.

Alex imagines how John might fit into his life. Is this the man Alex wants to be his first male kiss? His first male lover? Will John be the man Alex sleeps next to for the rest of his life? Will he be the one to fill the void inside of Alex? Will they have inside jokes or pet names for each other? Will he accompany Alex to movie premieres and awards shows? Will John, when the media catches wind of their relationship, blame Alex for the fallout and, in a long, drawn-out argument where things are said that cannot be taken back, say, "I wish I'd never met you"?

The sun has set by the time they're finished with dinner. For dessert, Alex orders a slice of key lime pie, and John has a lemon-lime parfait.

"So you're filming another movie now?" John asks, showing that he's done his research.

Alex nods through a mouthful of pie. Why does John always ask questions when Alex is in no position to answer them? He hurriedly swallows and says, "Yeah, we're gonna be filming in West Vancouver next week for a month. Have you ever been?"

"No, but I hear it's a nice beach-y city."

"You live on an island," Alex reminds him, because, seriously, this entire island could qualify as a beach.

"But we're not much of a city, in case you haven't noticed. It's more of a small village."

This is the moment Alex should invite John to come with him, but that's more than he's willing to risk right now, an admission of something he's not quite sure of. So he doesn't, and the moment is lost.

After dessert, John walks him through the quiet neighborhood. The air is slightly humid and smells dewy. The streets are tiny, paved one-way roads hidden among trees and bushes. Alex can tell John wants to reach for his hand, and he feels like a dick for not offering up his own.

"Thanks for dinner," John says. "This was nice."

"Yeah. No problem." Alex waits for John to fill the conversational void. He doesn't. "You live around here?" Alex asks just to break the silence.

"Yeah. Did you—did you wanna go back to my place?" John says each word carefully, as though each one is a loaded gun.

"No, no, sorry, I was just making conversation," Alex says a little too quickly. "I mean, I gotta be on set pretty early, and the director's a real jerk when I show up late." That's not the reason Alex is rejecting John's offer, but it's a polite lie.

"I understand. No sweat."

Neil's house comes into view. The porch light is on, and Geddy is swaying back and forth on the swing, using his leg as a rudder. Alex feels something weird in his chest at the sight of him.

"Well, here you are," John says, slowing to a stop a few yards away from the house. "Who's he?"

"Oh, that's Geddy. My journalist buddy. He's sort of my life coach right now."

"So you have a life coach and a chaperone."

"I know, it makes me sound like I'm a huge fucking mess," Alex chuckles.

"Just a bit." John smiles, and they share a real, genuine moment.

John looks like he's debating going in for a kiss but reconsiders, offering Alex his hand instead. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

Alex shakes his hand. "Yeah, same here. I'll call you, okay? 'Cause I'll be in Vancouver for a while, and I don't expect you to come all the way out there, y'know?"

"Sure." John nods, as though knowing they will never see each other again. "Take care, Alex."

"You too." Alex watches John turn and leave, watches him disappear into the winding road lined with thick greenery. Then Alex heads for the house.

Geddy looks up as Alex's footfalls grow nearer. "Hey," he says, timid and quiet. "You didn't kiss him."

"You were watching us? Perv."

"I was observing."

"Observing, peeping."

"It's not really peeping when you're out in the open," Geddy says.

Alex smiles and takes the spot beside him on the swing. "Did Neil kick you out of the house?"

Geddy shakes his head, his hair bouncing. "He got tired, so I said I'd wait for you out here."

Alex checks his watch. "It's not even nine o'clock yet. There's no reason for anyone to be in bed at this hour unless they're getting laid."

"You know Neil."

"I really don't. Did you know he plays drums? Because I didn't. That blew my mind."

"He might've mentioned it at some point."

"What the hell? How come you and John get to know but not me?"

"You'll have to ask Neil."

They fall into a comfortable silence, the kind of silence that exists between friends who don't need to fill it with superfluous words. No one has ever made Alex feel the way Geddy does, and it's incredibly unfair that he's fallen for someone he can't have. Is Alex doomed to a life of Johns, of men who meet very few criteria on his checklist?

Geddy, perhaps sensing Alex's melancholy, asks, "So, how was it?"

How best to answer that? Alex gives a lazy shrug. "Okay, I guess. He's a nice guy."

"But?"

"But... He's not _the_ guy, y'know? Maybe I'll give him another chance. I probably didn't give him a fair shake."

"To me, it didn't seem like you gave him _any_ shake."

Alex's mouth drops open in gleeful surprise. "Why, Gedward, you card! Was that a dirty joke?"

Geddy turns his face away so Alex can't see how hard he's blushing. " _Gedward_?"

"Geddy's gotta be short for something, right?"

"No, it's actually one letter longer than my real name."

"Which is?"

Geddy frowns, like he's irritated Alex has managed to pull this secret out of him. "Gary."

Alex cocks his head. "I don't get it."

"'S'how my mother pronounces it. My parents were Polish immigrants."

"Hey, neat! My folks were from Serbia."

"So I'm guessing Alex isn't your birth name?"

"No, it is. It's my last name that's an obstacle course for English speakers: Živojinović."

Geddy stares at him. "Did you just put a curse on me?"

Alex laughs. "You can see why I changed it. Plus, Živojinović sounds like the name of a swarthy dude with a barrel chest and fists hairy enough to be gerbils. When I started out in 2112, I was pale and skinny, and my hair was so long that people thought I was a girl from behind."

"I had that same problem," Geddy says wryly.

They step off the porch and head for the coastline not even a mile down the road. The ferry dock is near the beach, and it's early enough that they might catch a ride back to the city.

"So can I start calling you Gary?" Alex teases as they walk.

"I'd rather you didn't. Especially since I can't pronounce your other name."

"Živojinović," Alex says with a grin.

"Stop," Geddy whines.

Alex takes a deep breath, inhaling the crisp sea air. It's a beautiful night to be alive. "Would you wanna live somewhere like this?"

"Meaning? Tropical and beachy? Or are you talking about the seclusion?"

"Both."

"I like Toronto," Geddy says thoughtfully. "They don't even have a grocery store here."

"But they have a lighthouse."

"Somehow that doesn't convince me. What about you?"

"I think I'd get bored really quickly here," Alex says. "I need constant stimulation. And not in a dirty way."

"If you did, you would've gone home with John." Geddy is on fire with the dirty jokes tonight.

"You know why I didn't? And promise you won't laugh." Alex actually waits for Geddy to promise before he continues. "I didn't want him to be my first. I've had sex with women, but in my head that doesn't count. I dunno, I think about sleeping with a guy I'm not in love with and it just feels weird. At least to me. I know it's lame and old-fashioned."

"I didn't say anything like that."

"You were thinking it."

Alex is only teasing, so he's taken a bit off-guard when Geddy says, "You have no idea what I'm thinking," in a tone that's a little too serious for their light-hearted banter.

"No, I don't," Alex says after a moment, wishing like hell that he did.


	8. Signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has a fanmix! http://8tracks.com/sodium-amytal/8156069  
> It's mostly for the first nine chapters though, since the mix is upbeat and the fic takes some depressing turns in chapter 10 and onward. Doesn't mean you /couldn't/ listen to it for the rest of the story...

Alex spends Sunday night lounging in the pool on top of his building, gazing up at the stars. It is still and quiet, except for the soft sound of music flowing from the speakers of his poolside boombox. He's alone up here, which means no one to interrupt his meditative calm. The bulb above the rooftop door burned out ages ago, so the only light comes from two dim, submerged pool lamps.

Alex hears the distant noise of the door bursting open. He sighs, irritated by the disruption, until he hears a familiar, soft voice: "If you're not gonna answer your phone, at least tell me first so I don't panic."

Alex spins around in the water to face Geddy. "Aww. You _do_ care!"

Geddy drags a chair poolside, its metal legs scraping the concrete. "You missed our life enrichment session today."

"Oh, shit! Did I? I'm sorry! I've been busy getting ready for Vancouver."

Geddy's eyes widen like he's been punched in the stomach. "What?"

"I thought I told you. Well, the movie's filming in West Vancouver for two months, so I've been getting all my shit together for the flight out tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"I could've sworn I told you. Oh, wait, no, that must've been John. Shit."

"How convenient," Geddy murmurs.

Alex isn't sure what that's supposed to mean.

"Two months, huh?" Geddy frowns. "You're gonna miss a lot of betterment opportunities."

"You can make me a list, and I'll do 'em. Scout's honor."

Geddy glances away. "Most of the fun is hanging out. Spending time together."

"We can hang out now." Alex slaps the water. "C'mon in."

Geddy gives him a skeptical look before glancing down at his own attire. "I don't think so."

"I've got an extra swimsuit in my bedroom." Alex wades over to the other side of the pool and digs his keys out from underneath a beach towel. "Go change and come back up here." He hands Geddy the keys. "I promise I won't ogle you. Too much."

Geddy's judgmental face is a sight to behold. He scrunches up his mouth for a moment, contemplating this inane decision before finally giving in to the power of Alex's pleading eyes. "Alright, fine. But only because you dropped this Vancouver thing on me with zero notice."

"All part of my plan," Alex jokes as Geddy storms off.

When Geddy returns, he's wrapped in a colorful beach towel and is most likely cursing Alex under his breath. He dips a toe into the water, testing its temperature before shedding the towel on a chair and sliding into the pool with a light splash. Geddy floats a few feet away from Alex.

"Try not to miss me too much," Alex says, slinging water out of his hair. "While I'm gone, maybe you can try this whole life enrichment thing for yourself. Ask a girl out. Live a little."

Geddy is oddly quiet for a moment, and he wades away as Alex glides nearer. "About that... I don't think that's..." He trails off, as though second-guessing what he was about to say. He swallows thickly; Alex watches the entrancing bob of his Adam's apple. "That's probably not gonna happen."

It sounds different from his usual dating-related negativity, and Alex is immediately concerned. "Did you get rejected?"

"No..." Geddy crosses one arm over the other, creating a makeshift shield between him and Alex. "The day after we got back from the Islands, I thought about asking Nancy on a date. But I couldn't do it, 'cause it didn't feel right. And not 'cause she's my roommate or anything. It's just... when I thought about what it would be like, her and me on a date, I found myself imagining her as someone else."

Alex lifts an eyebrow. "Ooh. Well, go after this other chick instead. Unless she's, like, married or something. Probably not a good idea."

Geddy's staring at the tranquil movement of the water. "It's not a she." He says it so quietly it's a miracle Alex even hears him.

"Oh. _Oh_! Is that why you were asking me how I knew I was gay?"

Geddy nods reluctantly, still refusing to look at him. Like he shouldn't have admitted any of this.

"So you're probably freaking out, huh? Well, don't worry too much about it. Crushing on a guy doesn't change anything about who you are."

Alex's pulse races as his mind scrambles to construct a version of this where he's Geddy's crush. He could be, right? Geddy hasn't mentioned any other male friends aside from Neil, but Geddy has an entire life at work that Alex isn't privy to. Maybe there's a cute guy in his office.

Alex should just ask. Tear the band-aid off and get it over with. He's been grappling with this crush on Geddy since they met. Time to give it a proper burial.

"Is it me?" Alex asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Geddy has momentarily risked eye contact, but when the words leave Alex's mouth he glances away again, like he's already resigned himself to the consequences of admitting feelings for a close friend.

"You're the best friend I've ever had," Geddy says, the words coming quick and panicked. "But I don't know how to deal with this _thing_ I've been feeling, or, well, sometimes I do, but it doesn't feel right, like I shouldn't even be thinking it..."

"Ged, I told you. I'm irresistible. It's okay," Alex says, grinning, because he can't believe his luck. Geddy actually— _finally_ —likes him in a non-platonic way. Alex doesn't even know what he did to make this happen. Was it the playful flirting that pushed him over the edge? Or did Geddy respond to something innate in Alex's personality?

Geddy smiles, ducking his head, and Alex swims closer until they're very close, almost impossibly so. Geddy doesn't move, just lets Alex back him up against the edge of the pool. Geddy's gaze lingers on Alex's chest for a moment before he flicks his eyes up to his face. "I was jealous," Geddy says faintly. "When you went on that date with John. And I felt like a bad friend for hoping you wouldn't hit it off, 'cause I was too scared to admit the way I feel about you."

Alex wants to make sure they're on the same page here. "Are you sure you're not just confusing friend feelings for crush feelings?"

"I'm sure," Geddy says, solemn, and Alex knows not to argue with that tone of voice. That's a tone that says he has gone to some embarrassing, unspeakable places in determining the severity of this crush. Alex is very familiar with this terrain.

"So you won't freak out again if I try to kiss you?"

"No, I want—I want you to."

That's about as honest as it gets. Alex closes the distance between them and changes everything with a warm, solid press of mouth. Geddy doesn't try to kiss him back, but he does bring his hands up from underneath the water and lays them over Alex's chest, gliding up to the back of his neck. Geddy tastes exactly how Alex imagined he would and yet somehow even better at the same time.

Alex has never kissed a man—or anyone—like this, where kissing is its own kind of sex. He brings a hand up to palm the warm skin of Geddy's cheek and jaw. Geddy's mouth opens a little more, and Alex flicks his tongue over Geddy's bottom lip. His hand slides up into Geddy's hair, and Geddy pushes more insistently at Alex's mouth.

Kissing Geddy is exhilarating and surreal. Geddy has always been perfect for Alex, never treating him differently because he's famous or rich. In a world of suck-ups and sycophants, Geddy is a breath of fresh air. And now kissing him is something Alex might get to do all the time.

Geddy breaks away for a moment of composure, which Alex is secretly thankful for, because he needs one too. Alex glides a safe distance away. He's stupidly afraid that his erection, straining underwater against his swim trunks, might frighten Geddy into pretending this never happened.

Geddy licks his lips, and Alex wonders if he tastes good, if it might encourage Geddy to kiss him again. "That was nice," he says, soft and slightly breathless.

"Just nice? You're s'posed to be the writer."

Geddy smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. "I wish you would've told me earlier that you're leaving."

"You could come with me," Alex says in a rare burst of brazen honesty.

"For two months?"

"Yeah, take an extended vacation."

"I'm sure that would go over real well with my boss."

"Fuck 'im. You could be my assistant."

"Alex..."

"I know, I'm just being hyperbolic. Hyperbolous? I don't know. I'm not a word guy. But you could come with me, even just for, like, a week or two. I'll be a perfect gentleman, I promise."

"Where's the fun in that?" Geddy says with a teasing little smile, and Alex's heart gallops in his chest. "I'll see what I can do. Maybe I can work out an exclusive about the movie. Do you think... Is that something the production crew might be open to?"

"I don't see why not. More press couldn't hurt the film." Alex wades closer, his erection calmed, and settles his hands on Geddy's waist. "And it means I get to take you on an actual date."

"Oh? Is Date Alex as charming as Regular Alex?"

"I think the only difference is Date Alex wears a shirt with buttons."

"That doesn't sound very easy to rip off."

Alex grins. "I like this side of you. Flirt harder."

Geddy goes all blushy, and Alex kisses him again, craving the warm softness of his mouth.


	9. Countdown

The sky glows with golden clouds as Alex's plane descends into Vancouver the next morning. A chauffer sets him on a course to the hotel, and Alex drowsily watches the city roll by through the window.

If Vancouver itself is Hollywood North, West Vancouver must be Santa Monica Lite. As Alex crosses over the Lions Gate Bridge, he can see forest-covered mountains in the distance, and a long sweep of beach lining the coast seemingly to infinity. A limitless azure ocean glistens in the morning sun, and a few cargo ships sit far off on the water. Buildings are scattered across the land like freckles.

It feels worlds away from Toronto, maybe even another planet.

The hotel lobby is modern chic, with checkerboard tile floors, magnificent gold crystal chandeliers, funky-shaped furniture, and neon lights. A water fountain is built into one of the walls, blue light illuminating the water as it trickles down the stony edifice.

The room itself is typical high-class hotel fare, nothing Alex hasn't seen before. But the balcony leads out to a stunning view of the city, and Alex can only imagine what it might look like at night.

That evening Geddy arrives at the hotel as the sun begins to set. Alex is waiting for him in their spacious, luxurious room.

"Hey," Geddy says, setting his suitcase by the bed and doing that hair-tucking thing he does when he's nervous. "Sorry I couldn't get here earlier. I missed your first day on-location."

"We'll have lots more." Alex takes Geddy's hands in his own and tugs him closer. "Are you hungry? I'm starved. We should get dinner."

"Okay," Geddy says around a laugh, smiling at Alex like he's something new and wonderful. "Like a date?"

"Exactly like a date. Which it seems like we've been doing an awful lot of lately."

"Are you trying to retroactively claim your life enrichment sessions as dates?"

"Are you trying to claim that they're not?" Alex pokes at Geddy's nose. "'Cause I've got news for you, _Gedward_ —"

Geddy frowns and pushes Alex's hand away from his face. "Don't call me that, Alex Ziva—Zivoja—Zivino—"

"Ged, stop. Don't hurt yourself." Alex grins and steals a kiss.

They share a bottle of wine at a restaurant not too far from the hotel. The lighting inside is incredibly dim, windows tinted like the place is a mafia hangout, and the small candle flickering in the middle of the table doesn't help much. Alex's eyes have barely adjusted by the time the waitress arrives with their food.

"You're Alex Lifeson, right?" she asks, setting the tray with delicious pizza onto the table.

Alex flashes an award-winning smile. "That's me."

She gasps. "Oh my God, Subdivisions is, like, my favorite movie! I swear I must've seen it at least ten times."

"I don't blame you. John Candy is a comic genius."

She laughs at his self-effacing joke. "You're not too bad yourself. Let me know if you need anything," she says before walking away.

Geddy lifts an eyebrow. "Doesn't that get tiresome?"

"People telling me how great I am? That's the only reason to be famous. Well, that and the money."

"So it doesn't bother you?"

"I get the feeling it bothers _you_."

Geddy blushes and glances away. "Well..."

"Don't tell me you're jealous? That's adorable."

Geddy fusses with his hair while Alex grabs a slice of pizza. "That's not really what I'm... I know who you are."

"Everyone knows who I am," Alex jokes, because he can tell Geddy is about to drop a truth bomb.

"Maybe you started acting 'cause it seemed fun and exciting, but I think you keep doing it to fill a void inside of you with approval and adoration. You're insecure and want everyone to like you. You distract yourself with projects and hobbies and other people so you don't have to be alone with yourself."

Alex looks away, swallowing thickly. "Is that really how you see me?"

"People are more than their flaws. And lucky for you I'm the same way, so it doesn't really bother me."

"I guess the whole 'dating a guy' thing is what bothers you."

Geddy makes his annoyed, prissy face, which Alex will never not snicker at.

"Oh, what's wrong? You don't enjoy being psychoanalyzed? What a surprise!"

It might be physically impossible for Geddy to pout any harder. "Don't think I won't call you a smart-ass just because you're famous."

"Now that's unfair. You know I get turned on when you talk about my ass."

Geddy blushes again and takes a slice of pizza before Alex commandeers the entire pie. He should be used to Alex's flirty comments by now, and maybe he is, but now there's a layer of mutual, spoken attraction that wasn't there before, an understanding that Alex makes these comments to twist Geddy up and make him yearn.

"It doesn't bother me," Geddy says, finally addressing Alex's accusation. "It's just... different. I never really thought about it until I met you."

"I knew I was attractive enough to make straight men question their sexuality," Alex boasts, his mouth half full. "Do you think your mom would be okay with us? I mean, if she hears about it she's not gonna disown you, right?"

Geddy sips his wine, stalling. "I'm sure she considered the possibility at least once that I might be gay. And you're rich and famous and beautiful, so maybe she wouldn't mind too much. I could do worse."

"Far worse."

Geddy rolls his eyes with affection. "She probably just wants me to find someone already."

"Well, then I'm glad you settled for me."

"You wanna talk settling?"

"I don't settle. I can have anyone I want."

Geddy tucks a chunk of hair behind his ear. "So why me?"

"'Cause I like you, for one." Alex leans in, as though about to reveal earth-shattering information. "But also 'cause you're honest. That stuff you said about me being insecure and a people-pleaser? Only Neil would have the balls to say something like that."

"I thought you wanted everyone's approval."

"If they don't respect me enough to treat me like a person, what's the point?" Alex cuts his food into small pieces, just to give him something to do with his hands. "But more than that, you've seen the ugliness inside of me, and you're still here."

"I wouldn't call it ugliness. Nobody's perfect, Alex, but we make the best of who we are."

Alex wonders if his best is good enough.

"Instead of calling it 'ugliness,' I'd say you're just stunted. You got famous at 22, so you still behave like you're 22. Celebrities get stagnant 'cause no one ever challenges them or asks them to change."

"You challenge me," Alex points out, because Geddy has been a driving force of change in Alex's life.

"You got lucky," Geddy says with a coy smile.

After dinner, Geddy mentions that he hasn't seen the new Star Wars yet, so Alex finds a movie theater and they slip inside. While they sit together unnoticed in the dark, Alex worries that they're on the world's most cliché first date. Dinner and a movie? No one's _ever_ done that before. His wealth and fame should guarantee a unique, spectacular first date experience, or at least something Teenage Alex wouldn't have come up with.

Alex is embarrassed for himself and kind of wants to die right here. Maybe Geddy's got a point about that stunted emotional growth stuff.

But Geddy doesn't seem to mind, like it's never occurred to him to ask for more from his movie star boyfriend. In Alex's neverending quest to determine Geddy's motives for dating him, he hasn't found any evidence suggesting Geddy's only along for the ride because Alex is famous and rich. Geddy seems to prefer quieter, more intimate settings.

All of this rumination, of course, could be entirely wrong. This is probably Geddy's first date, and he just doesn't want to make waves by suggesting something expensive and outrageous. Maybe that will come later.

When they get back to the hotel, Geddy barely makes it inside the room before Alex is on him with needy kisses and urgent hands. Geddy moans around Alex's mouth and pulls him in, his hands drawn tightly in the front of Alex's shirt. Thrilled by Geddy's eager response, Alex nips at his lower lip and kisses along his jawline. Geddy whimpers, tipping his head back against the wall, and Alex can't help but drag his tongue down the tempting line of his neck. He licks at the hollow of Geddy's throat, and he can feel the moan there.

Geddy's hands are on Alex's face now, bringing his mouth back to his own. Alex has no complaints about kissing him again, but he wants more. His nervous fingers work open the buttons of Geddy's shirt, and he pushes his hand inside to glide over the hot skin underneath. Geddy makes a muffled noise into Alex's mouth and rocks his hips forward, seeking friction.

"You want me to touch you?" Alex says, slightly out of breath when he breaks away. His hand lingers on Geddy's thigh, awaiting further instruction.

"You can—Yeah, it's okay."

"Don't let me push you into something you don't want." Unless Geddy's been lying about his sexual experience, this will mark the first time someone besides himself has touched his dick, and Alex wants to make sure it's not something Geddy will look back on with confusion and regret.

"What do _you_ want?"

Alex just goes with it. "I've been thinking about sucking your cock."

"Oh..." Geddy inhales a deep breath through his nose, his gaze darting to where Alex's hand is wrapped around his thigh. "That sounds really nice."

"You're sure?"

"I'm hard just 'cause you talked about it," Geddy says, embarrassed.

Alex grins and kisses him again. "Oh yeah?" he prods, his fingers trailing down the length of Geddy's torso before his mouth follows suit. Alex kneels at his feet, and Geddy's hands are already wrapped in Alex's hair, his body tense and quivering for whatever comes next.

"Relax, Ged," Alex says, placing a soft kiss to the jut of Geddy's hipbone after pushing his jeans down. "It's me."

That seems to set Geddy at ease, like he knows Alex will be good to him. Alex tugs him out of the opening in his shorts and squeezes his fist around Geddy's cock. Geddy squeaks out a tiny noise of want, and Alex has to shake his hair out of his face to appreciate the way Geddy's watching him.

Alex thumbs the head, and Geddy trembles, then Alex flicks his tongue out to catch the pearly drops of precum beading there. Geddy gulps for breath, makes a smothered sound in his throat. Alex admires his dick for a moment—cleanly cut and neatly sized—before opening his mouth around the swollen tip.

"Oh," Geddy sighs, his hands going tight in Alex's hair. His back and shoulders are pressed against the wall, the lower half of his body pushing forward in a desperate plea for more. Geddy tastes like sweat and cotton, his body a live wire under Alex's lips, and Alex sucks him slowly and carefully, his tongue chasing the vein along the underside of his cock.

Geddy makes the softest, most strained little noises Alex has ever heard, as though he's struggling to keep quiet. Alex is torn between finding it adorable and wanting him to be louder. Geddy gets more vocal when Alex swallows him down a bit further, and Alex hums around his cock, encouraging as he swipes his tongue under and around the head.

Geddy's fingers knot in Alex's hair, and he barely has time to groan out a warning before he's gasping and coming and shaking. Alex takes it all, his mouth messy and salt-bitter once Geddy slumps against the wall.

"Sorry," Geddy huffs, his hands sliding to the sides of Alex's face.

"For what?" Alex licks his lips, the corners of his mouth, tasting Geddy everywhere.

Geddy's voice is soft and apologetic. "For not lasting longer."

"I'm taking it as a compliment," Alex says, rising to kiss Geddy's mouth.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Alex wakes up in bed beside someone he loves. Geddy is fast asleep, his arms tangled around Alex's waist, and his face turned into Alex's neck. He is beautiful in a way that reminds Alex of porcelain: fragile and tender to the touch. Alex gently brushes the fringe out of Geddy's face, watching him in liquid sleep.

A short while later, Geddy stirs, blinking awake.

"You stayed," Alex murmurs.

Geddy smiles, glancing away and chagrin coloring his cheeks. "Where would I go?"

Alex is still dazed and half-asleep, and he's forgotten that Geddy agreed to stay in the room with him for the duration of his trip. "Somewhere else?"

"Why would I wanna be anywhere else?" Geddy says with a shy, blushy smile.

After the blowjob, they didn't go further. Alex showered, then Geddy, and afterwards they crawled into bed together, sharing soft kisses and chaste touches.

Alex pushes up on his elbows and shakes the hair out of his face. He's acutely aware of Geddy watching him.

"Are we really gonna do this?" Geddy wonders. "This is crazy."

"I want to. I like you a lot. But if you're having second thoughts—"

"No, I just... I'm nervous, I guess."

"Don't worry. I won't blow your cover. Just you," Alex says with a wink.

At work, all Alex wants is to be finished so he can spend time with Geddy. Occasionally he glances behind random crewmembers to see Geddy sitting on any available surface, scribbling onto his notepad. But stealing these glances in the company of cast members and crewhands feels obscene somehow, like having sex in public.

When filming is finished for the day, Alex takes Geddy to dinner at a nearby restaurant. They don't get much opportunity to talk, because the place is crowded; almost everyone recognizes Alex and wants a word or an autograph. So when the meal is finished, Alex leads Geddy east to Ambleside Beach.

The sand is soft and pliable under their feet. The sky is a soothing mix of pinks and purples as the sun fades from view. Even the weather is refreshing for a summer's evening.

"You don't really talk about your job," Alex points out as they walk. "What's up with that?"

Geddy shrugs. He bounces a pebble off the toe of his shoe, sending it skittering across the sand. "It's not very exciting."

"So? Most people's jobs aren't. Doesn't mean I'm not interested." Alex wants to reach out to him, but he stuffs his hands into his pockets to circumvent the urge.

"Well, what would you like to know?"

"Whatever you wanna tell me. Like how you got into journalism in the first place."

Geddy considers this. "I liked to write. And writing for a newspaper seemed like a more viable career than trying to write a best-seller."

"Don't tell me you've never tried."

"Okay, I won't."

Alex laughs. "We'll put a pin in that one. What drew you to writing about entertainment?"

"I watch a lot of TV and movies, so I might as well make it work for me," Geddy chuckles. "But in college everyone wanted to be the guy who changes the world and opens people's eyes. I thought I'd have an easier time making a name for myself in a less crowded niche."

"So you're less of a dreamer and more of a realist?" This doesn't bode well for the future of their relationship. Geddy has to recognize the perils of what they're doing here, how difficult it's going to be.

Geddy looks at him, like he hears the worry in Alex's voice. "I'm a dreamer where it counts."

"As in: not your career?"

"If I was meant to be a best-selling novelist, I would have written the damn book by now."

"Well, there's always later," Alex says, trying to be supportive. "You're not even thirty yet. You've got time." In the distance, the Lions Gate Bridge lights up as the sun weakens. "You can tell me about your book, y'know, if you want."

"It's stupid..." Geddy says, doing that nervous hair-tucking gesture; Alex is tempted to reach out and grab his wrist to stop him. "Neil said he liked it, but he was probably just being nice."

"Oh, man, it's probably brilliant if it's got Pratt's seal of approval."

Geddy blinks. "Pratt?"

"'S'what I call Neil 'cause he's pretentious. Stop changing the subject and tell me about your novel."

Geddy does a pouty thing with his mouth, as though searching for a way out of this. There isn't one, so he sighs and says, "Well, it's about a guy searching for meaning and happiness in a world with advanced technology that looks like it's from the 1800s..."

It turns out that Geddy can talk at length about the novel idea bouncing around in his head, and it's a nice subversion for Alex, who's used to talking about himself and answering questions. He loves that he can just listen and let Geddy take the conversational helm. Geddy is even cuter when he's excitedly going on about something.

As they round the beach and head back west, Alex wants to touch Geddy. He wants to hold his hand and kiss him and blow him and fuck him all at once. That he can't do any of these things until they make it back to the hotel kills him inside. Geddy keeps talking, oblivious to the need brewing inside of Alex.

So Geddy's a little surprised when Alex pins him against the wall after they get inside the room.

"Oh," Geddy manages to huff out through Alex's manic, insistent kisses. His arms sort of flail uselessly until settling around Alex's waist. "You still like me after I rambled for an hour about my dumb book?"

"Yes, yes, God, you don't even know." Alex crushes their lips together before mouthing at the line of Geddy's jaw. "And shut up, it's not dumb."

"You're so weird," Geddy says with affection, then he's tipping his head back and moaning when Alex suckles at his neck. Alex feels the rumble of pleasure under his tongue, and he shivers.

Alex moves them in the direction of the bed, his hands fumbling with Geddy's sweater as he tries to pull it over his head. Geddy's shirt ends up coming with it, and Geddy flushes pink, chagrined by this flagrant, brazen display of skin, and Alex reassures him with kisses and teasing bites at his nipples.

Alex sinks lower, kneeling before him, and tears open the front of Geddy's jeans before taking him into his mouth. Geddy gasps and gnarls his fingers in Alex's hair, his hips tipping slightly forward so Alex can swallow more of him. Alex doesn't mind. He may not be an expert, but he'll put on a damn good show.

His own cock is starved for attention, and he's not going to ask Geddy to reciprocate, not when he's so uncomfortably hard, so Alex finagles his free hand down his jeans and curls his fingers around his aching dick.

Geddy makes a sound in his throat and pushes Alex's mouth away. "Wait—wait, I want..." He takes a breath and a moment to gather his thoughts. "I wanna make you come."

"Trust me, you are," Alex murmurs against the head of Geddy's half-hard cock, squeezing and stroking his own erection.

Geddy pushes a little more insistently this time. "Let me."

Alex's hand stills, because if Geddy wants to touch him he's not going to protest.

"How do you want me to..." Geddy lets the rest of that sentence taper off.

"Put your dick in me." Alex isn't sure he's said it out loud until Geddy goes red again. "That's not what you had in mind at all. Shit. Okay, never mind. Do whatever you were thinking about."

"I'll do it. I just won't last very long," Geddy says, ashamed.

"That's the beauty of it. Neither will I. Look at this thing." Alex gestures to his own prominent boner. "I'll blow my load just taking my jeans off."

"As long as you're okay with my lackluster performance."

Alex rushes over to the other side of the bed and searches for the bottle of lube in his suitcase, because there's no sense in screwing around when his cock is practically a time bomb right now. "Who've I got to compare it to? All the other guys I've let pound my ass? Oh, wait."

"Being cheeky really isn't doing you any favors."

"Bullshit, that's where half my charm comes from." Alex locates the bottle and pulls Geddy onto the bed, loosening him up with kisses. Being pinned underneath Geddy is dizzying, and Alex feels wide open already. He bites at Geddy's mouth with hungry, eager kisses, and Geddy timidly fumbles with Alex's jeans, stripping them down his legs.

Alex snaps the bottle open and gets his palm slick, enough to slide his hand up and down over Geddy's cock. Geddy curses, shaking all over as Alex strokes him. He hurriedly strips Alex of his underwear, then gets a little gun-shy at the sight of Alex's dripping, erect cock. Geddy blushes and blinks awkwardly, like he isn't sure if he's allowed to look at it this long.

Alex chuckles and sits up. "Here," he says, opting to make this easier for Geddy. He moves them so he can straddle Geddy's hips and sink upon him. Alex swears, but the word is subsumed in Geddy's high, breathy gasp as Alex takes him inside.

Alex reaches for Geddy's hands and laces their fingers together, rolling his hips in a way that makes both of them groan, in shambles already. Alex has been dying for this, and he climbs and falls in a needful rhythm, all sense of pacing out the window. The hot slide of Geddy's cock sends electrical impulses screaming along Alex's spine, and he shakes, his muscles tensing as his climax builds.

Geddy joins in, his hips clashing and rocking against him, and Alex loves every bit of it. It's so much better and more fulfilling than just his own fingers. "Fuck yes," Alex huffs. "Don't stop."

Geddy's pretty good at following directions, because he doesn't stop his clumsy thrusts, trying to match Alex's pace. Alex is so close now, grinding frantically against the base of Geddy's dick until he lifts his hips, and Geddy chooses that moment to plunge back in with a shove, and it's so fucking good it physically hurts when Alex comes. He's swearing and gasping through it all, then Geddy's dick twitches and pours hot and wet inside of him.

Alex groans Geddy's name in a pathetic noise of relief, and he has to grasp onto the headboard to keep himself steady. Geddy rocks into him, wringing out the aftershocks, and Alex purrs in contentment.

"Ged, that was..." Alex searches for an appropriate word but finds his linguistic abilities aren't at their peak after he's been freshly fucked.

Geddy makes a sound of assent and wraps his hands around Alex's hips, thumbs stroking over the top of his thighs. He licks his lips, his fringe damp with sweat. "Wow."

"Yeah." Alex laughs. "Is that what you wanted?"

"I wanted to make you come, so, yeah, I think I did my job."

"Now who's being cheeky?" Alex steals a kiss, settling on top of him and tangling them together, hot and messy. Geddy drapes an arm over Alex's shoulders. His other hand travels carefully down the valley of Alex's spine and along his thigh, like Geddy could break him.

Alex catches his breath while his skin shudders under the gentle, loose touch of Geddy's fingers. He is so, so in love, and the fact that he'll have to hide it hurts in a way that's unfair.

As though sensing Alex's pain, Geddy holds him tighter.


	10. The Weapon

In the morning, Alex is surprised to find Geddy still lying next to him under the sheets. It's not like Geddy has anywhere else to go, but waking up beside someone is a new phenomenon for Alex.

Alex curls an arm around him and presses a kiss to his bare shoulder. Geddy whimpers a sleepy noise before his eyes creak open. He has pillow hair and tired eyes, and he looks radiant in the early morning glow. Alex watches him with adoration, and Geddy hides his face in the pillow to conceal his smile.

"I can't believe I had sex with a movie star," he says, his voice muffled, but he doesn't sound like he regrets it.

"Believe it, baby." Alex smirks. "Consider your V-card destroyed, or at least voided."

Geddy groans like he's embarrassed an actual person said that out loud.

"Now you're a card-carrying member of the not-heterosexual club. Our meetings are on Fridays, and there's punch and pie."

"What kind of pie?"

"I don't know. I'm making this up," Alex chuckles. "Gimme a break."

"So there isn't actually pie?" Geddy frowns. "Lies hurt, Alex."

Alex snuggles closer and scoots down the bed so he can mouth at Geddy's chest. "Fine. We'll get your damn pie tonight." He flicks his tongue over a nipple, and Geddy makes a sexy, throaty noise.

Alex thinks about instigating a bout of morning sex, but he doesn't want to come off like that's all he wants from Geddy. Last night was a big step. Maybe they should slow things down a bit so Geddy can adjust.

Alex rolls onto his back, putting some distance between them. "Okay, so, you still wanna do this, right? This whole 'dating me' thing?"

"Yeah," Geddy says, like it's a question.

"I just—Maybe last night was too much too soon for you."

Geddy shakes his head and sits up, covering his naked hips with the sheets. An amusing attempt at modesty for the guy who was plowing Alex's ass just hours ago. "No, I would've told you. I'm a little nervous, but it's okay. I'm excited, y'know, to be with you."

Alex exhales a sigh of relief. "Me too. I've never dated anyone, so we're on equal footing here."

Geddy smiles and edges his legs off the side of the bed. "I need a shower."

"Want me to get in there with you? We'll be helping the environment. Conserving water." Alex wiggles his eyebrows, and Geddy laughs.

"Maybe some other time."

Alex's first clue that something is amiss comes an hour later when he and Geddy are on their way to the shoot. The limo driver gives them a suspicious side-eye as they climb inside.

"Morning," Alex greets, because he's rarely met someone whose sour mood he can't diffuse through positivity and kindness.

The man grunts a noise that might be a response and gets them on the road.

Well, someone's grumpy.

The second clue comes when they reach their destination. Part of the street along the seawall has been blocked off for the shoot, but this isn't the troubling part. What bothers Alex is the way the crew and cast are conducting whispered conversations that cease abruptly as he walks by.

Alex checks his watch, fearing he's arrived late. Nope, right on time. He looks at Geddy for confirmation that the nasty, accusatory glances he's getting aren't all in his imagination.

Geddy sees them, too.

"C'mon, guys, it's a beautiful day," Alex announces. "Don't look so glum, chums."

Tough crowd.

Geddy slinks off to the craft services table. Alex finds Charlene sitting on the railing around a nearby restaurant's outdoor dining area. At first, he thinks she's reading over today's scene, but upon closer inspection it's just a magazine.

"Why's everyone so grouchy today?" he asks. Maybe it's got nothing to do with him. Danniels is no stranger to screaming at him for the slightest infraction. If it was something Alex had done (or failed to do), Danniels would be up in his face right now yelling about it.

Charlene looks frightened to see Alex, but something about her gaze is different now, though Alex can't put a finger on it.

Her gaze darts away. "You don't know?"

"No. Did something happen?" Alex gasps. "Oh my God. Are we getting nuked by Russia?"

Charlene sighs and unfolds the magazine she's reading so he can see the cover. Alex is unsurprised to see his own picture there on the front of People magazine.

The headline reads, in huge, loud print: _Is Alex Gay?_

But it's the line underneath it that makes his insides shrivel up and blow away: _Rumors fly on set that Lifeson is afflicted with AIDS._

No.

No. No. No.

Raw terror engulfs him. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. "No, this is—Has everyone seen this?"

"It's not just People," Charlene says, sounding pained. "The Sun and The Province ran the same thing."

"What's their proof? They can't just..." Alex flips through pages and finds the feature:

_It seems Canadian superstar Alex Lifeson has plenty of secrets. While filming his new flick Middletown Dreams, Lifeson has been spotted in West Vancouver cavorting with a male companion identified as journalist Geddy Lee of the Toronto Globe and Mail. Lee published an interview with Lifeson last month, and apparently the two have developed a relationship beyond the professional. Whether Lee and Lifeson are an item is unconfirmed, but an anonymous source revealed that Lifeson has arrived on set multiple times allegedly "looking like a zombie" and requiring extra time in the makeup chair to hide his ailing health._

Printed alongside the article are grainy photographs of Alex and Geddy on their dates. None of the pictures themselves are particularly incriminating—even though one shows Alex with his arm around Geddy's shoulders—but presented altogether in this context they're a smoking gun.

Alex shivers, his body going numb. He doesn't read any more. He shoves the magazine into Charlene's hands. "Bullshit. Fucking bullshit. They seriously believe this?"

"I don't," Charlene says.

Alex studies her face for a lie.

"I don't," she insists. "Even if you _are_ gay, it's none of our business."

"Yeah, that's not really the part I'm taking issue with right now."

"I don't believe that either."

How did he not see this coming? Alex has feared being alone and his own psychological quirks and people hating his stupid movies and Geddy rejecting him. But his preoccupation with that nonsense allowed him to forget about the most dangerous threat to his livelihood, and now he's truly fucked.

Alex moves for the craft services table across the street, but he staggers like a boxer who didn't take advantage of standing eight count. As expected, the crew has given Geddy a wide berth, unwilling to associate with someone even tangentially tainted by this clusterfuck.

"I'm so screwed," Alex says under his breath once he reaches Geddy.

"What? What's going on?"

"Well, let's see. Apparently every North American publication has run a story claiming you and I are gay together and that I have AIDS, and now it looks like everyone on set hates my guts, and my career is probably over. Do you or Neil know any weird cult leaders? I need a cyanide tablet."

The shoot is a disaster, because Alex is an emotional wreck throughout. It's hard to focus on lines and delivery when your life is falling apart. The crew and cast grow increasingly irritated with his constant retakes, as though perturbed with him for letting all of this affect his mental state.

Occasionally Alex spots a random crew member talking to Geddy, and he can only hope they're not being hurtful.

Food is the last thing on Alex's mind during the break for lunch. He heads straight for his trailer and places a frantic call to Neil. It feels like both a thousand years and the blink of an eye for Neil to answer.

"Pratt, Pratt, Jesus, you have to fix this!"

Neil sighs a world-weary noise. "Alex, calm down."

"Did you seriously just say that to me right now?"

"Breathe. Let's be analytical. Forget the horror and look at this coldly. There's no evidence. Nothing concrete that would hold up in court. It's not like they published pictures of you with a dick in your mouth. This is all circumstantial."

Alex's heart trip-hammers in his chest like he's on cocaine. " _So_?"

"Look, just leave it alone. The only way to put the fire out is to stop feeding the flame. If there's no new fuel, it dies out. People always think they can douse the flame with their words, but all those words do is keep the fire stoked."

"Won't silence make me look guilty?"

"You never have to take back words you don't say."

Alex exhales angrily. "Is that seriously your strategy? 'Just don't say anything'? Christ, what am I even paying you for?"

Neil's voice has a touch of venom to it now. "I'll get in touch with Broon and see if we can wrangle up some form of damage control. But leave the public relations to us, okay? Don't open your mouth. 'No comment' is gonna be your mantra for the next few weeks. Swear by it."

Alex cannot even imagine living with this for _weeks_. It's only been hours and his heart is about to explode out of his chest. His mind's racing fast enough to be pulled by a team of sled dogs.

"Can I sue? I mean, this is definitely libel, right?"

"We'll look into that. But even so, a lawsuit might not be the best option. We'll figure something out, Alex. Just keep your big mouth shut."

* * *

Something happens to Alex, a synthesis of the panic and terror swirling in his head, the numbness coating him like snowflakes on his skin, and he leaves his body to hover above as the rest of the day plays out. His surroundings take on a dreamy, surreal quality, as though he's viewing the world through a filtered lens, detached from his own existence.

He sees the disgust and contempt aimed like darts at his head: Danniels eyeing him suspiciously; Hugh chuckling at jokes privy only to himself, flicking his gaze from Geddy to Alex; the crew immediately glancing away when Alex meets their eyes; Charlene blinking nervously as she studies Alex's expression, worried about him.

Night rolls around, and the shoot is finished, because Danniels refuses to shoot night-for-day. The cast and crew disperse into the sparkly darkness of the city. Alex finds a distraught-looking Geddy on the other side of the street.

"Are you holding up okay?" Alex asks him.

"Yeah." Geddy's voice is soft and strained, as though saying any more words will pull the lone thread holding him together. Alex understands.

They no-comment their way through the frenzied throng of reporters waiting by the limo and scramble inside. The driver has no more of a sunny disposition than he did this morning. Alex leans his head against the window, the vibrations from the glass rattling his teeth, and lets a few tears escape.

No one speaks until they reach the hotel. The limo pulls up at the back, but there's still a handful of anxious paparazzi gathered around the rear entrance. They swarm as soon as Alex and Geddy get out of the car. Alex has never considered himself claustrophobic or agoraphobic before, but he can definitely see how someone might feel suffocated by a crowd of people. It feels like a scene out of Dawn of the Dead where the zombie horde devours some poor supporting character.

Alex and Geddy hurry to the door and shut themselves inside. Alex shivers though he isn't cold, trying to catch his breath. His heart is still racing. He doubts his pulse has had a moment of calm since he arrived on-location this morning.

They make it up to Alex's room without running into anyone. The hotel staff must have threatened any lingering photographers or reporters with a phone call to the police, because the elevator and halls are devoid of prying eyes.

Once they're safely tucked away in the privacy of Alex's hotel room, Alex starts pacing the floor. "Oh God, what the fuck am I gonna do? It's all over. I'm screwed. I'll never get another role again." He pauses as a thought sends terror down his spine. "Oh shit, no! My parents are gonna hear about this!" He runs for the double doors leading out to the balcony. "I'm gonna jump. Do you think it's high enough to kill me?"

Geddy gets his arms around Alex's waist and pulls him away from the doors. "Will you just calm down for a second and breathe?" He manages to turn Alex around to face him; Geddy is surprisingly strong for being so skinny. "It's gonna be okay. You'll get through this."

"That is appallingly naïve, Ged, especially for you."

Geddy blinks. "Meaning what?"

"You're a journalist. You know how this goes. Your name was printed too."

"Yeah," Geddy says, gnawing his lower lip.

"And you aren't fucking terrified you could lose your job?"

"Well, my boss knows I'm here because of the write-up. He gave me the assignment. So it wouldn't make sense for him to fire me over this. The most he might do is just pull me off and assign me to something else."

Alex huffs in frustration and tears himself out of Geddy's hold. He paces again, his nerve endings tingling. He's glad that Geddy won't accrue any significant fallout here, yet envious that he seems to be getting off scot-free. They're supposed to be in this together, but Geddy has broken his part of their unspoken pact before it's even begun.

"What did Neil say about this?" Geddy asks, gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed.

"He said not to say anything."

"That's good advice. Anger is dangerous. It inhibits your reasoning and self-control."

"Good thing you're not angry." Alex knows he's being a dick here, but he can't help it.

"Hey, that's not fair. I'm pissed off too. But Neil is right. Just let this taper off. There's no sense in publicly lashing out when all it's gonna do is give the media more to chew on."

"'The media'," Alex scoffs, "like you're not part of it."

Geddy recoils as though he's been slapped.

"It wasn't just tabloid rags who printed this. Legitimate newspapers are spreading this bullshit around. I'm willing to bet the Globe ran it too. Or at least they will by the end of the week. But you wanna stand there and give advice when you're part of the system that's tearing me down?"

Geddy leaps to his feet, his hands tightened into fists. "There's nothing I can do! The only power I have is in my own little corner."

"Your corner where you write mindless drivel about celebrities and entertainment."

"You didn't seem bothered by this 'mindless drivel' when it was kissing your ass."

"So what? You're still contributing to a system that feeds on people's private lives like bloodthirsty sharks! Shit like this is exactly why I didn't want to get involved with the press, because this is what happens. You and your _colleagues_ wouldn't have a job without people like me! And fuck me if I'm gonna respect a system that profits off my existence and consumes the entertainment I provide, and then burns me to the ground and capitalizes on my misery!"

"Alex, stop!" Geddy snaps, and there's a twisted sadness in his anger that makes Alex's heart crawl into his throat, one of those moments where you know you've crossed a line. "I get that you're upset, and I'm sorry this happened to you, but that doesn't give you the right to be shitty to me."

Alex rakes a hand through his hair and collapses into a chair. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I know you're not—I just... This is a fucking nightmare. I'm sorry. I'm just a huge asshole."

Geddy moves over to him, sitting at his feet. He pries Alex's hands from his face and holds them in his own. "You're not an asshole. You're just kind of acting like one," he says, trying in vain for even a small laugh. "But given the circumstances, I think you're allowed a couple asshole moments."

Alex sniffles and stares at the floor, unmoving. "Do you know what the worst feeling in the world is? Being powerless. It's like being in the middle of the ocean with a heavy weight chained around your ankle. And no matter how hard you thrash or struggle you just keep sinking, and there's nothing you can do."

"Unless someone pulls you out."

"How? What can you possibly do to fix this?"

"We can start by figuring out who's to blame. I find it curious that all these papers published the same story at once. It's not like it's a national event or something that could be backed up with actual proof. So I'm thinking one person—or maybe a group of people—sold the story to a bunch of different papers."

"So it was on purpose?" Insult to injury, then. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Well, there's no way they could have piggy-backed off whoever printed it first. These things take time to go to press."

"So let's say someone paid them to publish the story. Doesn't that reflect poorly on the paper's credibility when people find out it's not true?"

Geddy chuckles sadly. "Fabrication is an epidemic in our industry. And it's not dealt with well. Usually we just transfer the person to another department, team him up with someone willing to keep an eye on him."

"Why not just fire 'em?"

"If a writer is fired for plagiarism or fabrication, that looks bad on the editor and the higher-ups. So they just bury it. Every industry has their secrets."

Alex frowns. "You think someone did this on purpose?"

"That's what it looks like. Even if a bunch of different people wrote the same story, how could they all have access to those same photos? This was orchestrated."

"By who?"

"By _whom_ ," Geddy corrects. Mr. Pedantic.

Alex rolls his eyes.

"I did some research while on set," Geddy says. "I read each article, and the only thing supporting the AIDS claim is an anonymous source saying you showed up sick on set for multiple days. Only someone on the set would know that, right?"

"Doesn't really narrow down the suspect list." Alex looks at Geddy through cloudy eyes. His voice catches in his throat when he speaks again. "I just wanted people to like me. Why did they have to lie?"

"So the public would be afraid of you. Fear makes people stupid. You can control the masses if you make them afraid enough."

"No wonder you're friends with Neil. You philosophize just as well as he does."

Geddy offers up a weak smile. "He's an intelligent guy. I like our conversations."

"Maybe you should date him instead."

"Don't." Geddy squeezes Alex's hands. His warmth is startling, and Alex realizes how cold his own hands are. "Why don't you take a shower and warm up? I'll order us dinner."

"If someone sees you in my room..."

"It's unlikely anyone knows which room you're staying in, considering Neil registered you with an alias," Geddy points out. "C'mon, you need to eat. It's important to take care of yourself."

Alex consents and takes refuge under the water from the fiasco of his real life. Standing under the hot spray takes the bite out of the awareness seeping through him, thawing it out like it's made of ice. He sinks to the bottom of the tub and sits there for a while, disconnected and numb, focusing only on the hurried patter of the water against the basin.

He closes his eyes and breathes in slowly and deeply, holding the air in for a moment before exhaling even slower, trying to calm the manic pulse of his heart through breathing exercises. He sits there for a long time, lost in the calculated pattern of his breaths.

How might that imaginary interview go now after this bombshell?

"So, Alex," the host would say, "it seems your loss of fame was even more meteoric than your rise to it. What's all this about being an AIDS-infested fag?"

"Don't do this. Don't believe everything you read."

"But there are pictures."

"Taken entirely out of context. This is ridiculous."

"Is that why you're almost thirty and not married yet? Because you're gay?"

"That doesn't prove anything."

"The evidence is really piling up."

"That's your evidence? I'm unmarried and spent some time hanging out with a friend?"

"So you're denying you're gay, Alex?"

"I'm denying the AIDS rumor. That's a hurtful thing to say about someone without an official diagnosis. And there shouldn't even be a stigma. These people are sick; the least you could do is have a bit of sympathy instead of demonizing them."

"But you _are_ a homosexual, is that what you're telling me? AIDS is a gay disease; you know the old saying, 'if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck...'"

"I didn't want any of this. I just wanted people to like me."

"Well, that's terribly pathetic, and I'm sorry to hear that. But no one likes you now. Your career is over. Your parents have probably heard about this, and they're ashamed of you. Geddy's only sticking around for the story. And how convenient his little bicurious phase springs up with someone intrinsically sworn to silence. You're a piece of shit, and this is all you're ever going to be."

There's a gentle knock at the door, then Geddy's voice saying, "Alex? You alright?"

Alex blinks water out of his eyes, shakes away the nastiness inside his head. "Never better." He can just imagine the way Geddy's frowning at his sarcasm.

"Food's here, if you're hungry."

"Okay."

Something in Alex's voice must rub Geddy the wrong way, because he asks, "Can I come in?"

Alex doesn't see why not. "Sure." He doesn't think Geddy will judge him for moping, but he gets to his feet, just in case.

The door creaks open, and Alex sees Geddy's silhouette through the fabric shower curtain. He thinks Geddy is stripping on the other side, but it's vague and blurry and why would he do that anyway? It isn't until Geddy pushes aside the curtain that Alex realizes he was right.

Faced head-on with Geddy's nudity, Alex's mouth is suddenly dry, his mind devoid of a response beyond, "Um..."

Geddy joins Alex under the water and tugs the curtain closed. "This is okay, right?" he asks, placing a hand over Alex's stomach. "I'm still with you. I still want you. No matter what."

Alex blinks, nodding in lieu of words. Geddy's hand trails down until his fingers curl around Alex's pathetic cock. He's half-hard already, enticed by the sight of Geddy's wet nakedness, and that gentle touch is all Alex needs to complete his erection. He shudders at the stroke of Geddy's hand, lets Geddy sort of push his back against the slippery tile and capture his mouth.

Geddy works him expertly in his hand, twisting and rubbing in all the right ways to make Alex's knees shake. Alex snakes his arms around Geddy's waist, his hands coming to cup his perfect ass and push him closer, and Alex is intensely aware of how Geddy's nudging his own erection into the solid muscle of his thigh.

Today's circus of fuckery cannot penetrate the protective bubble of intimacy they've got going here. But as soon as Alex tries to take solace in this temporary, calming distance from his problems, he comes hard and fast on his own stomach, and the spell is broken.

Alex reaches down between them to help Geddy, jerking him slow and easy. Geddy kisses him through soft gasps and whimpers, and it doesn't take long before he's shooting over Alex's fist.

Later, much later, they're lying in bed, listening to the sound of each other's breath and the rattling hum of the air conditioner. Alex didn't eat much—too nauseated to fulfill his typical appetite—but he managed to eat enough to satisfy Geddy. Geddy is watching him now with a tender expression, his arm thrown over Alex's waist, fingers playing along his spine.

"Listen to Neil, okay?" Geddy says. "He knows what he's doing. And so do I. If you don't supply the media with anything, they'll move on to something else."

"You don't think they'll make more crap up if I'm not fueling the fire?"

"It would be really stupid. As a journalist, you don't want to make up entire articles, especially about the same subject. It's too dangerous. The safer bet would be to make something up alongside the truth, like what happened here."

Alex stares at nothing in particular for a moment. "Do you think I should sue? Is that even an option?"

"Well, a journalist will want to protect his sources, so there's that. You'd have to sue each publication, presuming they're not all housed under the same roof. And I bet they have more money than you, so they'd probably prolong the trial 'til you're broke. Corporations are devious. And it's much harder to prove something isn't true than the reverse."

"But all I'd have to do is prove someone sold this story to the papers, and maybe that this person has a vendetta against me. Wouldn't that be enough for reasonable doubt or whatever?"

"Maybe. It would be an interesting case. Time-consuming, too. But if you did pursue it, I'm sure there would be a lot of detractors accusing you of restricting free press."

"Fuck them," Alex says, enraged. "Isn't it illegal to make up harmful things about someone?"

"You're right. Intentionally publishing things you know are false that cause injury or mischief to public interest is a indictable offense."

Alex lifts an eyebrow.

"My mother wanted me to be a lawyer," Geddy explains, sheepish.

"So what do you think?" Alex asks after a moment. "Should I sue?"

"There's always time for that. But I think slapping them with a lawsuit so soon _might_ give off the wrong impression."

"Like they hit a sore spot, and I'm trying to cover something up."

"Exactly."

Alex shuts his eyes, tears falling down his nose and his cheek. "This is it. This is all I'm ever gonna be."

Geddy snuggles closer. "Not to me. You're a good person, Alex. Even if no one else appreciates you, don't stop being who you are."

Alex sighs, trying to internalize Geddy's optimism, as though doing so might reverse the slow poisoning of his spirit.

"Try to sleep, okay?" Geddy says. "You're tired and stressed, which makes every little thing seem like the end of the world."

"Okay."

* * *

Alex doesn't sleep. He's too keyed-up, his heart still pounding fast and insistent in his chest, limbs pulsing with nervous energy. And now that he's alone with no distractions, he's able to think about the mess his life has become, which is something he's been virtuously avoiding up until now.

He lies there in the darkness, with Geddy fast asleep beside him, and thinks about the impending fallout. He tries to imagine what his life might be like without his career. It's one thing to dream about being a movie star and never make it, but it's another matter to have it all and then lose it spectacularly. What kind of jobs is he qualified to do? Will his future employers remember this scandal and pass him over, unwilling to hire someone who might bring more trouble than he's worth?

Alex knows these accusations will follow him everywhere. Even if the person behind all of this goes on national TV and admits they lied, it won't change anything. No one wants to be robbed of their outrage. They want their anger fed, and the only thing that will diffuse that anger is seeing the victim destroyed.

Alex's life is in free fall, and he has no idea when he's going to hit bottom.


	11. Red Lenses

Alex manages to doze off for an hour or two in a sweaty, strenuous sleep, plagued by disorienting dreams. He wakes up before dawn and lies in bed until the first hints of morning peek through the curtains.

"Ged," he murmurs, tenderly nudging his sleeping boyfriend.

"What's wrong?" Geddy mumbles into the pillow.

 _Everything._ "I can't sleep."

Geddy makes a tired noise in his throat. "What time is it?"

"Six."

Geddy rolls over to face him. He blinks his eyes open and looks at Alex. "Well, you certainly look like you had a sleepless night."

"Shit."

"Nothing some time in the makeup chair can't fix."

"They already think I'm wasting away." Alex hardly thinks it's fair that his detractors can use this as 'proof' of his ailing health when his zombie-like appearance is due to their harrassment.

"If you had AIDS, you'd be losing weight. You definitely got bigger since 2112." Geddy smiles and pokes Alex's stomach.

"Yeah, well, when it comes to the rumor mill, critical thinking need not apply."

Geddy props his head up on his hand. "You know the fable about the fox and the grapes? A fox sees a bunch of grapes hanging on a vine but can't reach them. Rather than admit defeat, he walks away and says 'I don't need sour grapes anyway.'"

Alex blinks. "I think you've been spending too much time with Neil."

"People want to believe fame and prosperity come with a price. It helps them feel better about not being famous themselves. They can say 'I'm glad I'm not a celebrity because it's not worth being hounded by the press.'"

"I'm pretty sure I heard you use that exact excuse before."

Geddy cracks a grin. "I probably did. But I don't take pleasure in the downfall of others. I find it extraordinarily sad."

"Especially when it looks like your meal ticket might be living in the soup kitchen pretty soon," Alex grouses, forcing himself out of bed.

"You're not my 'meal ticket,'" Geddy says with offense. "I have a job too."

"And what will you do when your boss wants you to join the crowd and write something scandalous about me?"

"I'll tell him to go fuck himself."

Alex glances over his shoulder and shoots Geddy a skeptical look.

"By explaining that it wouldn't be a good idea to write an article about unsubtantiated rumors."

"And he says, 'fuck off, then. I've got plenty of interns and wannabes who'll take your place.'"

Geddy sighs. "You're cranky because you haven't slept."

"No, I'm cranky because my life's going to shit," Alex explains, digging through his suitcase for a fresh change of clothes.

"Maybe things will be better today."

* * *

Things are not better today. In fact, they're far, far worse. Alex shows up on set looking like the walking dead, which _of course_ everyone secretly suspects is due to AIDS and not because he couldn't fucking sleep.

Hugh is especially rude today, but Alex remembers that it's is Hugh's last day on set, so bring it on, fuckpump.

On today's list of douchebaggery Alex has to swallow:

\- Hugh almost slaps a water bottle out of Charlene's hands because he suspects Alex drank out of it.

\- Danniels calls Alex 'Nancy Boy.' Alex makes a mental note to inform Nancy that her name is being used as a homophobic slur.

\- One of the grips smothers the word 'faggot' in a cough while passing by Alex. Alex tries to make the guy's head explode with his mind. He is not successful.

\- The craft services lady forbids Alex to take more than one sandwich during lunch break, despite the fact that he clearly saw Hugh walking away from the table double-fisting sandwiches, and he doesn't even have top billing. Maybe it has nothing to do with Alex being gay and everything to do with her being a bitch.

\- Some asshole cord-wrangler gives Geddy a dirty look, and Alex bites down on the urge to throttle him.

When the shoot is finished for the day, Alex passes by Hugh when Hugh says, "Have you told him?"

Alex stops. "What?"

Hugh moves in closer and lowers his voice, as though about to reveal a secret. "Geddy. Have you told him he has AIDS now? I mean, you're fucking the guy, aren't you?"

Flares light up in Alex's veins. "Excuse me? Let's get a few things straight. One, those rumors are bullshit. Two, _if_ I had AIDS, I wouldn't have to tell anyone, since apparently the entire fucking media beat me to the punch."

Hugh chuckles a nasty sound. "Take it easy, Lifeson. It was just a joke."

"A joke? I'm sorry, what's the punchline? 'Ha-ha, his life is in shambles!'"

"Look, these are the risks if you're gonna be a queer in this business. You didn't really think you could keep something like this hidden your entire life, did you?"

"What part of 'those rumors are bullshit' are you having trouble with?"

"If it's not true, why are you so bent out of shape about it?"

Alex feels a rush of blood in his ears. "Because some asshole took their unhappiness out on me, and rumors like these never die. They ruin lives."

"In all fairness, it's not like you really earned your career," Hugh says. "You said it yourself in that interview with Geddy. Success just sorta fell into your lap. You can't blame someone for hearing that and feeling resentful."

It's in this moment of Hugh boldly defending some anonymous detractor that Alex decides to hit him. He's fed up with feeling powerless, of being forced to swallow everyone's garbage with a smile on his face.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, so Alex snaps his fist right into Hugh's face. The punch hits Hugh in the nose. Blood spurts. There's a sound like a dried-out bird's nest being stepped on. Hugh goes down hard and screams like he's been shot.

Then Alex is on top of him, grasping his shirt with one hand and pounding his face with the other. His anger is unbottled now, its effects rippling out like the shockwave of an atomic bomb. That Hugh would defend the intentions of whoever is behind this points to him holding the smoking gun, which makes Alex even angrier, because Hugh was supposed to be his friend, or at least someone he could trust not to destroy his career.

"Asshole," Alex shouts, tasting the copper salt of Hugh's blood flying into his mouth, all squeamishness abandoned in the red haze of violence. "You don't get to dump your shit on me, you fucking bottom-feeding hack!" The bones in his hand feel like they're shattering with each punch.

But the unleashed fury feels good, feels better than Alex has in a long time, and it still feels great even when security pulls them apart and the police show up, even when he's handcuffed and loaded into a squad car.

* * *

Alex spends the rest of the night in a holding cell at the West Vancouver Police Department. There's a water fountain and a toilet in the back, two sets of bunk beds, and the walls are a dingy beige color. His cellmates include a snoozing drunk, a leather jacket-clad mountain man with a ridiculous beard, and a burly man wearing a Harley-Davidson t-shirt and blood-speckled jeans.

Naturally, Alex sits as far away from them as possible, content to lick his wounds in private until he's released in the morning. He sits by himself on the bench, examining his bruised knuckles and the three stitches between two of them.

A shadow crosses over him, and a gruff male voice says, "Word of advice?"

Alex glances up to see Beardy standing in front of him.

"Don't throw closed-fist punches," the man says. "There's twenty-seven little bones in the hand. The face is one big one."

"I'll remember that next time I beat the shit out of someone."

Beardy chuckles and sits on the opposite end of the bench. "Name's Brutus." He offers his hand, and Alex accepts, albeit with his non-bruised one. "You must be the movie star, huh?"

"You might wanna be a little more specific."

"Lifeson, right?"

"That's me." Alex doesn't think this guy will beat him up while an officer stands guard on the other side of the bars, but you never know. "And I would've really kicked his ass if the cops hadn't pulled me off."

"I never pegged you for a tough guy."

"Neither did I. Surprised myself."

"Looks like you did a good job. He didn't get your face."

There's nothing good about any of this. Alex thought he'd feel better after beating Hugh's face in, but the violence has just left him empty, scrambling for something else to take its place so he doesn't have to feel the shame and frustration roiling inside of him.

"Who was he?" Brutus asks. "Paparazzi?"

Alex shakes his head. "Co-worker."

Brutus checks the clock on the wall. "How come you're still locked up in here? Don't you have people to get you out on bail?"

"I didn't want to call my manager, because that would mean telling him I'm in jail," Alex explains in a detached voice.

"I think he's gonna find out."

"By the time he does, I should be out of here."

Alex is waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Brutus to recognize him as 'that faggot in the papers.' He almost wants to push it, but there is a chance—albeit a miniscule one—that Brutus has no knowledge of the gossip spreading through the media like a cancer, and Alex is loathe to surrender this thin veil of camaraderie.

This is how Alex sees the world now: those who believe the rumors and those who simply haven't heard them yet.

As though reading Alex's mind, Brutus says, "Y'know, I don't believe what they're sayin' in the papers about you. All this is just scare-mongering."

Alex feels uncharacteristically fragile, as though his bones are made of tissue. Just this one stranger showing him kindness in the wake of disaster is almost too much for him to handle.

"You're right," he says, "but it doesn't matter. The truth is boring, and people want something to rally against. Especially when it makes them feel like they're doing the right thing."

Alex is about to say something else when he hears a familiar voice nearing the cell: "Literally all you had to do was _not_ do this."

Neil.

Alex groans and buries his face in his hands. "God, I wish I was dead."

Neil's shaking his head as he approaches the bars, glaring at Alex with almost parental disappointment. "Aleksandar, what the hell am I going to do with you?"

Only three people call Alex by his full first name: his parents, and Neil. It is never a cause for celebration.

"Are you here to bail me out or chew me out?"

"No reason I can't do both."

"How did you find me?"

"Geddy told me what happened."

"That son of a B," Alex grumbles.

"Don't blame him. This is all on you."

Neil posts the bail money, and Alex is released. They slip into the car Neil has rented for his time in West Vancouver and take Marine Drive west to the hotel. Alex sits in the passenger seat, quiet and pensive, like a scolded child. He may or may not have his arms folded over his chest.

Neil grips the steering wheel as though it's personally offended him. "You're digging yourself so much deeper."

Alex is doing his best not to think about that right now. "Is Hugh mad?"

"He's not pressing charges, so that's gotta be the 'you punched me' equivalent of not being mad."

"You don't find that suspicious? He's probably not pressing charges because he's afraid of a defamation lawsuit."

"You're not looking a gift-horse in the mouth so much as you are cleaning its teeth. Do you have any idea how bad an assault charge would be for you right now? Especially with so many witnesses to corroborate that _you_ started it?"

Alex watches the city lights pass by, retreating into his corner of numbness. He has no idea when it will fade, so he's taking advantage of it hard and quick.

"We have to sue him," Alex says. "So what if I face charges? It's my first offense, so I'll get, what, probation? Maybe pay a fine?"

"Do you think suing him would fix anything, or would that just satisfy your own need for revenge?"

Alex goes quiet. His bruised knuckles begin to throb, the skin pulled tight and hot.

"And it wouldn't make anyone forget about this whole debacle, which I'm assuming is your ultimate goal."

They stop at a four-way intersection. There are a few cars on the road at this time of night, though most of the businesses are closed by now.

"There's a folktale about a young man who spread rumors about the town's wise man," Neil starts while they're waiting for the light to change.

Alex groans. "Oh God..."

"One day, he went to the wise man's house seeking forgiveness. The wise man said, 'I'll forgive you on one condition: go home, take a feather pillow from your house, cut it up, and scatter the feathers into the wind. When you have done this, come back to my house.'"

The light goes green, and they're moving again.

"The young man thought he was getting off pretty easy, so he was happy to follow the wise man's request. He went home and cut up the pillow, scattered the feathers, and returned to the house. 'Am I forgiven?' he asked. The wise man said, 'Just one more thing. Now go gather up all the feathers.' The young man said, 'But that's impossible. The wind scattered them!' 'Exactly,' said the wise man. 'Though you may regret what you have done, your words are scattered just like those feathers, spreading hate even as we speak.'"

"Is that your colorful way of saying I'm screwed?"

"I just think you're looking at this the wrong way. You're trying to clean up the lies and make it like they never existed. But that's not gonna happen. They're out there for good. You have to figure out a way to live your life in this new reality."

"A little too late for that," Alex says, studying his battered knuckles.

"Maybe not. If people think you're a loose cannon who's willing to beat someone up at the drop of a hat, they might fear you in a way that silences some of that negativity."

Alex remembers Geddy saying something about controlling people through fear. He doesn't relish the idea of controlling anyone, though at least this is something he actually _did_.

When they arrive at the hotel, Neil shoves through the crowd of paparazzi gathered at the door. The swarm charges as one, a mindless mob. Alex hurries to keep pace with him and narrowly avoids getting smashed in the face by a television camera. Flashbulbs and cameras circle like gnats, the questions coming like a stream of bullets. "Have you been formally charged?" "What led to your assault on Hugh Syme?" "Does this have anything to do with your illness?"

Neil hustles Alex inside, slamming the door on the frenzied mob. Alex bends at the waist and dry heaves for a moment, frantically sucking in air. He has to sit down, because he'll pass out if he doesn't. He feels a cold sweat prickling over his skin, waves of nausea rolling through his empty stomach like contractions.

"I thought you said they'd be afraid of me," he manages when he can breathe again.

Neil shrugs. "I didn't mean _them_. They're parasites." He waits while Alex catches his breath. "Let's get you back up to the room." Neil leads Alex by the crook of the arm to the elevator.

They're the only ones in the elevator at this time of night. Neil presses the button for the proper floor, and the elevator begins to move.

Geddy looks startled when Alex shows up. "You look like hell."

Alex laughs. It's not a happy sound. "I'm having a bad week."

Geddy guides him inside the room, sitting with him on the bed. Neil opts to stand.

"How bad is it?" Geddy asks Neil.

"Well, Hugh isn't pressing charges, but I can't imagine this little incident will be good for us."

Alex appreciates the plural there, the implication that Neil and Geddy are with him on this. It feels less like a scolding and more of a group effort.

Geddy nods and takes Alex's beaten hand in his own. "Stitches?"

"There was a tooth fragment embedded in my knuckles."

"Holy shit." Geddy looks at Neil. "Are you _sure_ Hugh isn't pressing charges?"

"There was a stipulation, of course, that Alex stays the hell away from him and doesn't pursue a lawsuit."

" _What_?" Alex sort of shouts. "He forbids me to sue? How is that not an admission of guilt? What reason would I have to sue him unless he's the one who sold the stories to the papers?"

If Alex had kept his dumb anger in check, he could have taken Hugh to court and sued the hell out of him for defamation. But he snapped, and while the temporary violence might have felt good, Hugh's bruises will heal, and his rumors will still circulate across the country with no lasting repercussions.

Hugh: 1. Alex: 0.

"You just made a mistake," Geddy says, trying to be comforting. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"Other people's mistakes aren't played out on a grand fucking stage," Alex bites out. "No one's ever gonna let me forget this."

"There's plenty of celebrities who said or did controversial things that no one cares about anymore," Geddy says. "Robert Mitchum was busted for pot back when marijuana got the kind of bad press that crack does now. He thought the arrest would end his career, and there was a call for his movies to be banned. But it was barely even a thing, and it might have actually helped his career."

Neil adds, "And remember John Lennon's 'bigger than Jesus' gaffe that no one cared about over in England? In the US people went a little crazy over it. Radio stations banned The Beatles' records, and there were calls to burn Beatles memorabilia. But did their career suffer in the end?"

"The press will gnaw on it for a while, but since no charges were filed and Hugh wants it to go away too, the media will have to find something else to talk about," Geddy assures him. "Trust me on this. This is my industry. If there's nothing new to report, you have to report on something else." He lifts a tender hand to Alex's face, and Alex burns under his touch.

Neil blinks, taken aback by their intimacy. "You guys are really...?"

Oh shit, that's right. Neil didn't know about Alex's relationship with Geddy until now.

Geddy withdraws his hand, as though he's been caught doing something terrible.

"It's okay," Neil says with a tiny smile. "I'm happy for you." He lays a comforting hand on Alex's shoulder. "Take it easy, you two. And try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Sure."

After Neil leaves, bone-deep exhaustion hits Alex like a wrecking ball. He's vaguely aware of Geddy's voice hovering near him, but sleep covers him like a blanket, and he's out.


	12. Losing It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obligatory playlist link: http://8tracks.com/sodium-amytal/8156069

Alex doesn't sleep _well_ , but he does sleep, which is a vast improvement over the last few days. Occasionally he wakes from a nightmare, panicked and sweaty, but the aching throb of his eyes and his body's need for rest overwhelm him, and he's asleep again.

Middletown Dreams is filming on the coast now, a quaint little spot on Dundarave Beach looking out on the vast sea, the beauty of the landscape juxtaposed against the tragic heart of the scene.

Alex fools himself into thinking everyone's nervous stares and refusal to make eye contact are because of last night's assault, and not because they think he's a contagious sexual deviant. It's an interesting power dynamic, and Alex is a little uncomfortable to find that he likes it.

Charlene greets him with a weary smile. "Hey, slugger."

 _It could be worse,_ Alex thinks, dismissive.

"How bad is it?"

"Depends on what we're talking about."

"Well, you, for one."

Alex lifts his bruised hand into focus. "I'll live."

"Are you in trouble at all?"

"Legal trouble? No." Alex waits a beat. "Aren't you gonna ask why?"

Charlene shakes her head. "Hugh told me."

That takes Alex by surprise. "Did he? He told you he sold those stories to the papers 'cause he can't stand to see someone else succeed?"

"Not in those exact words."

There's something about the condescension in Charlene's voice that irks Alex. Or is Alex just putting it there, assuming the worst?

"He said he made an off-color joke about your sexuality, and you hit him," Charlene explains.

"Oh, of course he would tell you the version that makes him look like a hapless victim. Not only did he joke about me having AIDS, he basically admitted he made it all up in the first place."

Charlene blinks, a face of genuine surprise. "What did he say?"

Alex huffs. It's not like Hugh _explicitly_ admitted to it, but why else would he stick up for some anonymous liar unless he felt guilty about perpetrating the crime?

"He said 'well, Alex, you didn't exactly earn your career, so you can't be surprised when people feel resentful.'"

"That doesn't mean he did it."

"Why else would he defend them? He's blaming me for something I had zero control over and saying I deserve all this."

Charlene makes a face. "I think you're reading too much into it. He probably just wants to see both sides of things."

Alex shakes his head back and forth, angrier now. "But why would he stick up for this person unless he felt personally attacked? He _had_ to know I wasn't in the mood to sympathize with some asshole trying to derail my career!"

Alex has never spoken to her like this before. He can see the hurt on her face, and he knows he should stop, but she takes one step too far, and the match is lit.

"Look, I just—Hugh is my friend too, okay, and I don't want to—"

"Your _friend_?" Alex shouts, too loudly, drawing attention from nearby crewmen. "I thought _I_ was your friend, too! Why can't you see what he is? If you do anything worthwhile he'll cut you down, because he's a washed-up, irrelevant dickhead!"

Alex's ears are hot, and his throat hurts. He's shaking like his blood sugar is low. Geddy is suddenly there, extricating Alex from the confrontation.

"Alex, let it go," he murmurs. "It's not her fault."

Alex is out of steam, and he lets Geddy pull him away to a secluded spot where he can cool off. "I'm sorry," Alex apologizes. "I don't know why—I'm just an asshole." He has no idea what the hell is happening to him, what he's supposed to do about all of this.

"I think it's a bit more complicated than that. But you can't blame her for not wanting to burn bridges. A business like this is all about who you know, especially for someone who's just starting out."

"I know, I know." Alex can't explain the tumult of emotions brewing inside him. He wants to cry, scream, apologize to Charlene, yell at her for not siding with him, sleep for the next twelve years, and kill himself, all at once.

"I just... I wanted to protect her," Alex says.

"Hugh probably thinks that's what he's doing too."

The idea that the destruction of Alex's life is just a misguided public awareness campaign is unfathomable. "No he fucking doesn't. If his intentions were good, he wouldn't be afraid of a lawsuit."

"Pick up a history book sometime. People turn into monsters when they think their actions are justified by a greater good." Geddy says.

Danniels certainly isn't happy with Alex's little outburst if his brutal direction is any indication. He barks orders at Alex during the shoot, his insane perfectionism demanding retake after retake of a simple scene where Alex and Charlene have a conversation on the beach. The scene itself revolves around Charlene's character breaking up with Alex's, so maybe Danniels is intentionally creating a tense, hostile atmosphere to get a more genuine performance out of his actors. Which Alex doesn't think is necessary, because his own argument with Charlene and his personal turmoil are pretty effective downers.

After about the fiftieth retake of their dialogue, the scene is supposed to end with Charlene walking away and Alex staring somberly at the sea, maybe letting a single manly tear escape. Alex has never been great at crying on cue, but he's a bottle rocket of emotion now, having shed few tears since this clusterfuck started.

In short: he's overdue.

Sitting here surrounded by people who despise him, Alex realizes now that he will always be the odd man out, the guy everyone secretly hopes won't show up to the party and put everyone on edge.

Alex's life seems full of more injustice than anyone should be rightfully asked to swallow. He crumbles into desperate, hysterical sobs, each body-wracking hiccup making him cry harder. No one yells 'cut.' No one stops him. The film just rolls, capturing every golden second of Alex's breakdown against the pink and purple sunset.

It lasts two entire minutes until Alex is exhausted of tears, and his sobs cease.

Danniels yells, "Cut!"

Alex sits there in the sand for a moment, gathering his composure. Through the bustle of crewhands and machinery, Alex hears someone say, "Damn. The big queen can act."

* * *

"Hey, hey, wait," Alex pants, jogging to catch up to Charlene before she leaves the shoot.

She looks mildly frightened, as though she expects him to scream at her again.

"Look, I'm sorry. I was a dick. I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. You don't deserve to be harrassed 'cause you don't wanna make enemies."

Charlene doesn't stop, but something about her posture is more relaxed now. Alex matches her pace as they walk along the paved pathway leading through the park.

"If you don't totally hate me, I need a favor," Alex says.

"I'm not gonna talk to Hugh for you."

"No, it's not that. Do you know somewhere I can get some valium? Or something like it?"

Charlene actually stops, looking at him like he's an entirely different person.

"I just need something to calm me down and help me sleep."

Charlene considers this for a moment, then: "Yeah. Okay."

"Thank you," Alex says, and he means it.

* * *

Alex has to fight through the horde of cameras and reporters again on his way back to the hotel. He meets Geddy in the elevator; Geddy entered the hotel from the front, Alex from the back. There's probably a dirty joke in there somewhere, but Alex can't find humor in much right now.

When they get to the room, Geddy ensures that Alex is well-fed and showered. "It's important to take care of yourself," Geddy reminds him.

Alex nods, still operating on auto-pilot.

After he gets out of the shower, he receives a phone call. Assuming it's Neil or Broon, Alex picks up. He feels a surge of panic at the gruff voice on the other end.

"Aleksandar, your mother is very worried about these things in the papers."

Oh fuck.

Alex groans and drops his head into his free hand. "Dad, it's not—tell her not to worry, okay? It's all made up. How did you know where to find me?"

"I called your manager."

Figures. Alex knots his fingers in his damp hair and sighs.

Geddy gives him a curious look and mouths, "you okay?"

Alex nods, and Geddy slips into the bathroom for his turn in the shower.

Dad says, "How are you feeling?"

"Never better," Alex chuckles weakly.

Dad, as though sensing an impending emotional moment, asks, "Do you want me to put your mother on?"

"Sure. Yeah."

It's not like Dad doesn't care. He does. He's just very unskilled at showing affection or concern. As long as Alex is fine, that's all Dad needs to know. Mom, however, requires details.

There's a minute's fumbling with the phone, then Alex hears Mom's worried voice. "Alex? Are these things in the papers true? Are you sick?"

Christ, don't his parents talk to each other?

"No, Mom, I'm not sick. It's all made up." He shuts his eyes, furious that the rumors have reached his family—the one impenetrable bubble of safety he's entitled to. Despite being his parents, they will no doubt look at him differently from now on.

"Are you sure? You sound like you're getting sick."

"I've been having a bad week. But I don't have AIDS, okay? I promise. I'm not dying." Just on the inside.

That seems to calm her down a bit. She breathes a long sigh into the receiver. "I don't like the way they treat you. You give them entertainment, and they repay you with lies. It's disgusting."

Alex shrugs helplessly. "That's the way it goes."

Mom is quiet for a moment, and Alex regrets saying something so bloated with cynicism and feigned detachment.

"I am so sorry they did this to you," Mom says. Something in her voice breaks Alex's heart all over again. "How are you feeling?"

Alex's first impulse is to say "fine," but it would be a lie. His life is a mess of panicked heartbeats and stomach-burning nausea and weeping in the shower and forcing himself into false, fragile composure for twelve hours a day (because it's his job and showing distress is a sign of weakness). Of swallowing down homophobic insults. Of watching people who used to smile at him now avoid his eyes and turn away. Of torturing himself with countless what-if scenarios, imagining things he might say or have said to him in heated confrontations. Of feeling lost and angry and devastated with no real outlet for those feelings. Does that sound fucking fine to you? To say "fine" is to discredit everything he's going through, but he doesn't want to cause his mother undue worry, so he takes a breath and says, "I'm fine."

"Your father and I love you. No matter what. Even if these things are true. You can always come home, you know. We have room for you."

"Thanks. I might—I might do that." Alex isn't sure if he will, but the offer sounds nice, and he would like nothing more than to retreat to his parents' woodsy home and just disappear. "I love you," he says, compelled by her generosity.

"And I love you."

It's an odd hour when Alex and Geddy crawl into bed. It's not early enough to be pathetic or a sign of old age, but it's also not late enough to really justify turning in. Alex isn't even that tired, but Geddy seems to enjoy his role as caretaker. Why deprive him of that joy?

Alex lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. Geddy's lying beside him with one hand pushed underneath Alex's t-shirt, fingers skimming over his skin like paintbrushes. It's comforting enough that Alex closes his eyes, and he's beginning to feel the slowing rate of his pulse when Geddy gets his hand around the elastic of Alex's sweats and pulls them down.

Alex's eyes pop open. "Whoa."

The word stills Geddy, who looks at Alex with chagrined innocence. "You don't want... I thought maybe..." Each sentence dies when it hits the air. He tries again. "It might take your mind off things."

Alex places his hand over Geddy's own, which is still wrapped around the waistband of his pants. "It won't help."

Geddy slides his hand away, looking sorry he asked, like he doesn't think he's allowed to want things in this relationship.

Last Week's Alex would kick Today's Alex in the dick for rejecting this wonderful opportunity. Isn't this what he's been fantasizing about since they met? Geddy has needs, too, and it doesn't seem fair to push him away. Depending on the position or act, Alex might not even need to move.

Alex reaches out and brings Geddy's hand back where it belongs. "I'm sorry. It's okay. You can—We can... Whatever you want."

Geddy offers up a little smile and dips his head down, kissing Alex's bare hip before pushing his pants down just enough to expose his cock. Geddy's fingers are warm and gentle around Alex's dick, and Alex settles his head back onto the pillow, his eyes shut while Geddy gets him half-hard.

Then there's a wet heat around the head of Alex's dick that feels suspiciously like a mouth, but there's no way Geddy would do that, is there? Alex opens his eyes and almost blows his load, because Geddy is diligently sucking his cock and working the shaft with his fingers.

Last Week's Alex would definitely blow his load here. Man, that guy was a douchebag. Alex wishes he could go back in time and warn the poor bastard what's going to happen to him, tell him he's not going to fully appreciate this blowjob because he's preoccupied with the wrong head.

Geddy hums a short sound around him, and Alex feels it everywhere. He groans, soft and throaty, and winds a hand in Geddy's hair. Geddy, encouraged now, swallows more of his cock, his tongue working magic. Alex struggles to keep his hips flat; the last thing Geddy needs is a dick shoved down his throat. He focuses instead on the soft little noises Geddy's making around him, the slurps and moans responsible for Alex's erection.

It doesn't take very long for Geddy's hot, eager mouth to coax Alex into orgasm. He manages to choke out a warning sound before he crests, and, hot damn, Geddy doesn't pull away, just takes what Alex gives him with a grateful moan.

Geddy sucks the head clean before Alex flops out of his mouth. He licks his lips, and Alex wonders if Geddy likes the taste or if he's seriously reconsidering this entire relationship if it means doing that on a semi-regular basis.

"Was it... Did you like it?" Geddy wonders.

"Yeah, of course."

"You were really quiet."

"Sorry." Alex pushes his hand through Geddy's hair, letting it settle at the back of his neck.

"I can get better. Practice makes perfect."

"You're already perfect," Alex says, and Geddy ducks his head to hide his blushing smile.


	13. Grace Under Pressure

In the morning, Alex wakes to the sight of Geddy stuffing his clothes into his suitcase. "Ged," he croaks, forcing himself into a sitting position. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point.

Geddy freezes like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

Alex rubs his eyes. "Goin' somewhere?"

Geddy drops the shirt he's folding and climbs onto the bed. He seems unsure if he should touch Alex, so Alex makes it easy for him and takes Geddy's hand in his own.

"I wasn't—I was gonna leave a note," Geddy stammers.

"Problems at home? Or are you cutting the dead weight outta your life?"

"You're not..." Geddy doesn't bother finishing that sentence. "I got a call from my boss. He wants me to do a write-up about your arrest and 'possible medical problems.'"

Alex feels his universe slowly detaching from its moorings.

"I told him no, of course. That you were my friend and I didn't want to give into sensationalism. He didn't like that. He kept pushing, and I might have... said some things."

"You told him to fuck off?"

"Not in those exact words."

Alex hears the subtext swirling around them, solidifying in the air. "So he fired you."

Geddy shakes his head. "I'm under suspension for a week. If I can't turn in something newsworthy by the end of it, I'm out. There's plenty of other wannabe journalists itching for my spot."

Alex's heart crumbles in his chest. "You can't just write about the movie like you were s'posed to?"

"It's inadvisable. If people are gonna read about you, they want salacious details. The movie is too pedestrian now." Geddy takes a breath. "I don't wanna leave you while you're dealing with this awful stuff, but I need this job, and I don't know what else to do."

"Go. Go back home and write something. Even if it's something negative about me."

"No. I can find something people will read that doesn't involve you."

Alex exhales a long sigh through his nose. "Look, you go home and take care of yourself. I'll be fine. I promise."

"You'll be alone," Geddy says, because he knows just what that means for Alex.

"Ged, c'mon, don't run your career into the ground for me. I might not have one for very long." Alex slings his legs over the side of the bed. "I'll help you pack."

Helping Geddy with his suitcase is a double-edged sword, because while it's a kind gesture it also reduces the amount of time Alex gets to spend with him, since a task takes half as long with an extra pair of hands. When they're finished, Geddy is reluctant to leave, clinging to Alex and making him dizzy with kisses until Alex has to practically force him out the door.

"C'mon, c'mon, this is good for you," Alex urges, hanging out the door of the room as Geddy stands in the hall. "I was bringing you down anyhow. Go out there and spread your legs—wings and fly." He grins at the intentional slip, and his stupid joke charms Geddy, who glances around before planting a quick kiss on Alex's mouth.

"I love you," Geddy tells him, which is a hell of a thing to say before leaving, but Geddy is a hell of a guy.

Alex spends a second in stunned shock before saying, "I love you too," like these are words they say to each other all the time.

Geddy blushes, his smile delirious, before he mouths "bye" and heads for the elevator.

Alex doesn't want to watch him leave. Too painful. He steps back inside the room and shuts the door. His brain is pretty focused on Geddy's admission of love, and while it fills Alex's heart with unbridled joy there's a poignant edge to it, because that same love might cost Geddy his career.

Alex just had to come in and ruin everything. Christ, Geddy was straight—or at least thought he was—before they met, but Alex kept pushing, unconcerned with how this relationship might affect Geddy's well-being. Geddy is in love with him now, but eventually the resentment will settle in, and he will see Alex as an embodiment of all the things he's lost and given up.

And maybe Alex will feel the same about Geddy.

* * *

Alex doesn't discover the depths of today's fuckery until he tries to use the restroom. The studio has slashed the film's budget, and the actors' trailers are the first things to go. Today's filming takes place in a nearby park, which provides its own public restrooms. But Danniels emerges from the men's room as Alex is about to enter, and a panicked look crosses his face.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there," Danniels says, taking hold of Alex's shoulders and piloting him away from the entrance. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Well, let's see. It's a restroom..."

"Don't be a smart-ass. You're s'posed to let me know before you go flouncing off."

"Couldn't find you."

Danniels steers Alex in front of a shoddy, blue plastic-encased portable toilet. "This is yours."

It takes Alex half a second to realize why Danniels is sequestering him to a private toilet.

"You _cannot_ be serious."

Danniels throws his hands up like there's nothing he can do. "I gotta look out for the safety of the rest of the cast and crew."

Alex sees red. "'Safety'? Give me a break. You just used a public restroom; those things are riddled with STDs. If you really gave a damn about people's health, you'd be reading the studio the riot act for taking the cheap way out and getting rid of our trailers."

"I'm sorry you see it that way. But if I don't enforce the rules, it's my ass on the line."

"What rules? The rule you just made up? I'm pretty sure forcing someone to use a separate restroom is a human rights violation." Alex has no idea if that's true, but it sounds smart and intimidating.

"Look, I had some people—I'm not gonna name names—privately raise some concerns about using a restroom that someone carrying AIDS used."

"I don't have AIDS!" Alex snaps. "But you'd know that if you actually tested me. You just wanna hide behind some noble cause so you can feel good about being a dick."

Danniels glares at him. "If you wanna keep getting roles, maybe don't piss off the director."

Ridiculous. Alex holds his tongue, seething with fury, until Danniels walks away. When Danniels has disappeared out of sight, Alex defiantly stalks inside the men's restroom.

_Go fuck yourself, Piss-Police._

* * *

Later that day, Charlene slips Alex a plastic baggie containing a generous handful of pastel green pills. "They're for anxiety. They help me sleep when I'm too keyed up worrying," she confesses by way of explanation. They're sitting very close, and Alex worries her association with him might mark her as someone to be avoided, tainted by her silent support.

Alex stares at the pills for a moment before stashing them in his pocket. "I'm not putting you out, am I?"

She shakes her head. "It comes and goes."

"Thanks." Alex looks out at the forest-covered mountains in the distance. The slow descent of the afternoon sun casts long, tree-shaped shadows over the two of them sitting on a park bench.

"Are you doing okay?" Charlene asks. "I know it's probably a stupid question, but if you need to talk..."

Alex shrugs his shoulders and worries a crisp leaf between his fingers. "They want me to use an entirely separate restroom now. But I say fuck them because I don't have AIDS. And even if I did, fuck them anyway."

"People are jerks."

"What bothers me most, I guess, is how people who used to smile at me just avert their eyes now and hope I don't talk to them."

"They're probably trying to avoid another repeat of your fight with Hugh. And isn't that better than being hammered by negativity?"

"Kind of. But it's almost like you're waiting for the bomb to drop. Waiting for whatever horrible thing they'll do to ruin your day."

Thinking about the inevitable confrontation makes Alex's hands shake. He looks down at them, trying to make them stop. They don't.

Charlene looks at him, looks at his hands, then covers them with her own. "Well, it can only ruin your day if you let it. Their biggest dream is for you to respond. And you have a guaranteed way to crush that dream." She tries another topic, perhaps hoping to distract him. "I don't see Geddy around today."

"He went home."

Charlene hears the longing in Alex's voice. "Did you have a fight?"

"No, but we should have. He's probably gonna get fired 'cause of me."

She leans her head on his shoulder, and the simple gesture of public solidarity reminds Alex there are parts of his heart still able to be broken.

* * *

That night, Alex lies in bed flipping through the handful of channels on the hotel television and waiting for sleep to come. The bag of pills sits on the night table, undisturbed since he set it there after forcing his way through paparazzi and rushing into the relative safety of the hotel room.

He is curious what it might be like to feel normal again. All of this panic can't be good for his heart. No one's supposed to operate under the fight-or-flight instinct all the time. Even the cavemen had moments where they weren't running for their lives from predators. And they certainly didn't spend those moments _thinking_ about the inevitable chase. Pointless rumination is a modern-day affliction.

The bed is unusually cold in Geddy's absence. During their nights together, Geddy would fall asleep entangled with Alex, infusing him with warmth and the comfort that comes with the presence of another. Another heartbeat. Another's quiet breathing. Proof that you are not alone in the world. Alex has none of that now.

Alex wants to believe that the scandal will ebb, and all of this will seem like a distant, bad memory. Because it would be so much easier to get out of bed in the morning if he had something to hope for. Twenty-four hours ago, Alex had his cock in Geddy's mouth. Now Geddy is halfway across the country, struggling to piece his life back together after Alex ripped it apart.

Alex reaches for the baggie of pills. He sets them in his lap and realizes he looks like something out of a melodrama. Poor, pathetic Alex sitting alone in the dark, illuminated only by the flicker of the television, feeling abandoned and hopeless and holding sedatives in his hands.

He could very well swallow the entire lot and be done with it all.

He doesn't do that.

But he thinks about it.


	14. Between the Wheels

The phone pulls Alex from a valium-induced slumber. Groggy, Alex fumbles for the receiver and grunts a greeting.

"Alex? Hi, it's Vic. Vic Wilson. The executive producer. From Anthem."

That sobers Alex up pretty quickly. "Yeah, what's up?" he slurs out, still hung over from the sedative and not at his best linguistic capabilities.

"I'm really sorry to have to tell you this"—something catches in Alex's chest, panic stirring to life—"but due to all the unflattering publicity surrounding you right now, we're defaulting on the picture, which means Middletown Dreams is cancelled."

No. Not possible.

Alex jolts up in the bed, rubbing his face as though that might help him process this new information. "Defaulting? What?"

"We'll make more money if production shuts down," Vic explains. "The movie's insured for triple what it would make at the box office now considering the controversy surrounding its lead actor. The insurance bond is reinsured by a shell corporation, whose bond is reinsured by another shell..."

Vic is still talking, but Alex isn't hearing any of it, because all he can focus on is that his chance at public redemption is gone before it even began. He'd hoped the movie might remind people why they ever liked Alex to begin with, that it might cleanse their palates and wash away the rumors.

Even now, he is still powerless to change anything.

"... I'm really sorry this happened," Vic's saying. "For what it's worth, I think this is all bullshit, but it doesn't matter what I believe, y'know? The public has spoken, and we can't risk a financial loss. When you boil it down, Hollywood's a business."

Even if the film was released in a few months, public opinion will not have turned so drastically as to make the movie more profitable than it would be to jump ship here. Alex is damaged goods, and having his name attached to a film now is box-office suicide.

"Yeah, I get it," Alex manages to say. The shock hasn't quite set in yet, maybe because Alex always knew the end was coming. Hadn't that been what Geddy was trying to tell him all along? "Thanks for telling me, I guess."

Alex hangs up and lets a few tears escape, shaking like he fell out of a plane without a parachute.

* * *

Alex arrives at Vancouver International Airport wishing for death. This is his first "public" outing since the tabloids began their systematic destruction of his life, and he does not relish coming face-to-face with the general public, who might not have encouraging or polite things to say about him or his alleged lifestyle.

There isn't much he can do in the way of disguises without drawing more attention to himself, so he just walks purposefully toward his gate. No one bothers a guy who looks like he knows where he's going.

Around him, the gates are crowded with summer travelers. Families camp out waiting for their flights. Businessmen hustle by, lugging suitcases that won't stay steady. The world spins on, not giving the slightest fuck about Alex's problems. From the outside, no one would guess that Alex's life is in pieces. There is both an indescribable relief and outrage in that fact.

A smattering of people are gathered in the seats at Alex's gate. He spots a familiar-looking woman sitting cross-legged and drinking coffee. As he draws closer he recognizes her. Desperate not to be alone with his thoughts, he takes the empty seat beside her.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Charlene says with a pained half-smile, setting the coffee cup at her feet.

Alex chuckles sadly.

"You good?"

"Never better."

A few people in nearby seats eye the two of them. It's a toss-up whether they're ogling Charlene or judging Alex for daring to show his face in public.

Alex looks at Charlene, feigning obliviousness to the stares. There's a long window behind them showcasing the runway and the huge silver plane rolling to the gate. The morning sun casts its light on Charlene's face, seemingly making her glow.

"What about you?" Alex asks.

"I'll be alright. I met a lot of people. And, hey, worst case scenario, I end up doing porn."

That makes him laugh. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"You could, y'know."

He could. But would he? Maybe. Maybe not.

"I could," he says, as though thinking it over.

"Wasn't Stallone in a porno before he did Rocky?"

"I think I heard that somewhere."

Charlene peeks at the boarding pass in Alex's hands. "Your seat is right next to mine," she says, smiling.

"I don't think I'll be much for conversation," Alex says around a yawn, still feeling the stultifying effects of the valium. "But I'll listen."

Charlene grabs the coffee cup at her feet and offers it to Alex. "Need a pick-me-up?"

Alex is stricken by her kindness, by how in one gesture she proves her inability to be swept up in the hysteria surrounding him. "Thanks." He accepts the coffee and takes a long drink. The cup's a little over halfway full when he hands it back.

She takes a drink right after him. Her friendliness and optimism and somehow being untouched by any of this gives off a buzz Alex can almost feel. Or maybe that's the coffee starting to work.

As they're standing in line to board, talking and sharing coffee, a prudish female voice scolds from behind them, "You know he has AIDS."

Alex looks over his shoulder to see a grumpy middle-aged woman with hair about as big as her mouth glaring at him. "You shouldn't share your drink with him," the woman continues, addressing Charlene but scorching Alex with her eyes. "You'll catch it too."

Words fail Alex, and he turns away reflexively, chagrin and rage reddening his cheeks. Pinpricks of heat erupt over his skin, inside his chest. He's helpless against her vitriol, plagued with erectile dysfunction of the mouth.

"Excuse me?" Charlene snaps, and even Alex is stunned by this jump to his defense. "Lady, why don't you mind your own business and leave him alone?"

Alex is acutely aware of how quiet the rest of the line has become. He wants to throw down a pellet and disappear like a magician, vanishing under the cover of a thick smoke cloud.

The man in front of them heads for the jetway, and now it's Alex's turn to board.

"What's the problem here?" asks the gate agent, an older woman with dark hair who looks like she's seen some shit on this job.

"Ask her," Alex grumbles, humiliated, offering his ticket.

"You can't let him on the plane," the woman insists. "He's infected. He could use the lavatory and put all the other passengers at risk."

Alex doesn't realize he's trembling with anger until Charlene puts a hand on the small of his back to calm him. He forces himself to speak up. "That's not even how it works."

"You'd know, wouldn't you?"

Goddamn it.

"I'm not infected with anything," Alex murmurs to the gate agent. "It's just a dumb rumor."

The agent looks at Alex's ticket, then back at him, and there's a hint of a smile at the edges of her mouth, as though she recognizes his name and is one of the few who still likes him. "You're free to board, Mr. Lifeson."

Alex smiles graciously, thanking her as he takes his ticket back.

Ms. Grumpy Butthole doesn't like this. "You can't do that! This is a safety concern!" she rages as the gate agent, unfazed, permits Charlene to board as well.

"You're right," the agent says, her voice as tired as her eyes. "So I can't let you on the plane if you're going to harass the other passengers."

The woman erupts into protestations, and Charlene hurriedly escorts Alex down the jetway, away from this uncomfortable situation.

"I'm so sorry about that," Charlene says.

"Seems like something I'm gonna have to get used to."

"No one should have to get used to that."

Alex shrugs, his nerves still jittery from the confrontation. "Are you gonna crusade to make the world fair? Good luck."

Charlene is frowning, her brow furrowed, and Alex wants to smooth it away.

"Thanks for sticking up for me," he says.

"What are friends for?"

* * *

Charlene gives Alex the window seat so he can remain relatively hidden from the other passengers. During the flight, she tells him about her childhood, about landing the small roles she's played in obscure, shot-on-shitteo films. Alex listens, happy to focus on something that isn't the disaster of his own life. At some point, he dozes off on her shoulder, wrapped in the warm blanket of calm.

Charlene wakes him up when they land in Toronto.

"Oh, shit," Alex mumbles, blinking awake. "I'm so sorry."

She blinks her dark eyelashes at him. "For what?"

"For falling asleep while you were talking."

"You didn't. I was reading the in-flight magazine."

Charlene serves as sort of shield for him when they head toward the baggage claim. She links her arm with his while they walk, like they're a couple. She seems to know exactly what he needs, which makes him both happy and sad.

She waits with him at the baggage carousel, even after her bright teal-colored bag is retrieved. It takes a few minutes for Alex's suitcase to appear, and he's afraid to pick it up. Taking it means leaving here and heading towards an uncertain future.

Charlene spots his name on the tag and pulls the suitcase off the carousel. "Here ya go!"

Alex takes the bag and stares at it forlornly.

"I don't want to go home," he says. His apartment is too big and empty and lonely, and he's not ready, doesn't think he'll ever be.

"So don't," Charlene tells him, like it's that easy.

Alex doesn't quite know how to respond to that.

"What about Geddy?"

"What about him?"

"You could go see him," Charlene says, her voice tipping up at the end, like it's a question.

"I could... But I wish I could just go there and not have to talk about anything or explain what happened. He'd just see me and say, 'Hey, I taped yesterday's Jays game if you wanna watch.' And I'd say, 'I think I prefer the Expos this season,' and he'd say, 'Are you serious? You're dead to me!'" Alex chuckles to himself. "And I wouldn't have to tell him that I screwed up. That it's all over."

"He'll understand."

"I know. I just don't wanna talk about it."

Charlene nods, plucks at a stray cuticle. "Did all the fame really make you happy?"

"Yeah, kind of."

"And if the movie hadn't been scrapped and you got to put it out there, would that have made you happy?"

Alex shrugs. "Maybe. For a little while. And then... I don't know."

"So what makes you happy, Alex? Go after that."

They part outside on the curb. Charlene says goodbye and disappears inside a white sedan with another woman behind the wheel. Maybe it's her mom or her sister; she spoke pretty highly of her family on the plane. Alex is oddly comforted by the notion that Charlene has people.

He sighs and climbs into the next cab that pulls up near him.

"Where to?"

Alex gives the driver Geddy's address and settles his head against the glass.

* * *

Thirty minutes later Alex is at Geddy's front door. Nancy pulls it open after he knocks, looking confused and concerned to see him there. She's wearing a long, oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, her hair pulled into a messy bun. "Alex? I thought you were in Vancouver making a movie."

"Yeah, so did I."

She sees the suitcase he's holding, the cab pulling away from the curb. "Did you get fired?"

"Pretty much."

Nancy's expression crumbles into despair. She seems to understand how serious this is, reaching out to touch his face. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry. Do you want to come in?"

Alex steps inside and sets his suitcase by the couch. "Where's Geddy?"

"Upstairs."

"Is he pissed at me?"

"I don't think so."

Geddy probably hasn't told her the real reason he's home, then.

All out of small talk, Alex says, "I need to talk to him."

"He's all yours." Nancy sits at the dining table where she's got numerous sketches and paint swatches spread out.

Alex finds Geddy's bedroom easily, because the last bedroom he passed was covered in décor a bit too girly for Geddy's tastes. Carefully, Alex inches the door open.

Geddy sits at a writing desk, his back facing Alex. The bedroom is average-sized, with beige walls and carpet. The bed is low to the ground and covered with a brown and cream-colored blanket depicting a serene countryscape. The desk sits below one of three windows in the room.

Alex, his voice soft, says, "Hey, Ged?"

Geddy whirls around in his chair to face him. "What're you doing here? Why aren't you in Vancouver?"

"Would you believe it if I said they didn't need me?"

"No."

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Alex sits on the edge of the bed, facing Geddy. Geddy rolls his chair closer and takes Alex's hands in his own. "The studio cancelled the movie," Alex chokes out, the explanation like broken glass in his mouth. "They don't think it'll make money 'cause of the scandals. So they defaulted on the insurance."

Geddy looks at him with worried, wide eyes.

Alex has to glance away, because staring at the perfect architecture of Geddy's face makes his belly shudder. "So... it's all over. I'm done."

Geddy takes a moment to process this, then his brilliant optimism shines through. "Maybe not forever. In a year or so, people will forget all of this. It was just a dumb thing that got blown out of proportion anyway."

"Well, at least one of us is optimistic."

"I meant it, y'know. When I said I love you. I'm here with you, for whatever you choose. I can call my brother. He might know somebody who can get you signed on to another project." Geddy smiles, hopeful, and Alex is stricken by the reality of his devotion.

"What about you? How are you coming along?"

Geddy looks around at the papers piled on the desk. "I'm not really sure."

Only now does Alex see the solution, and he's kind of stupid for not realizing it before. "I might have an idea. But I have to run an errand tonight so I know for sure."

"Oh. Okay." Geddy's eyebrows scrunch into a thoughtful expression. "Have you eaten yet?" Always the caretaker.

Alex shakes his head. All he's ingested today were the few sips of Charlene's coffee this morning.

"Why don't I make us lunch?"

"You know the number for the fire department, right?"

Geddy rolls his eyes and playfully slaps Alex's knee as he stands up. "Ha-ha. You've never even seen me cook, smart-ass."

"Why don't you let me do it?" Alex suggests, rising from the bed and following Geddy to the door. "It'll be good for me. A distraction."

Geddy nods in assent.

Alex spends the rest of the afternoon with them, and Nancy doesn't balk at the suggestion of him spending the night.

At eight o'clock, Alex drives Geddy's car to Limelight. When Alex gets inside the club, he tries to find an empty seat in the back to observe Hugh's stand-up routine, but Hugh spots him first.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Hugh sneers. Heads and eyes swerve in Alex's direction. A hush falls over the darkened room. The men are clearly put on edge by Alex's presence, but the girls are nervous, unsure what emotion to show. "Did your errand boy forget to tell you to stay away from me?"

Alex's stomach twists into knots. He looks around the club, at a sea of faces that would once greet him with wide smiles. Now he sees only apprehension and disgust.

Fighting to keep his voice steady, Alex approaches the stage and says, "It's a public place. And I just want to talk."

Hugh spreads his hands. "The floor is yours."

Alex shakes his head. "In private."

Hugh rolls his eyes and gives a theatrical sigh. "I'll be back in five, ladies and gentlemen." He puts the mic back on its stand and steps down. "What do you want, Lifeson?"

Alex leads him to a table near the back, and they sit. Someone else has taken the stage already, eager to be the next Hugh Syme.

"You printed those rumors," Alex says. "You hired someone to follow me and take pictures so you could tear me down."

Hugh scoffs a nasty laugh. The bruises on his face are sickening shades of green and fading purples. "Anyone could have hired paparazzi to take those pictures."

"The on-set report, Hugh."

"What?"

"In every single article, a common thread was a 'report' from someone on set about me showing up sick. Only someone who was present would have known about that. It wouldn't be Charlene; she doesn't have a mean bone in her body. Danniels is a jerk, but he's not two-faced, and he wouldn't want to raise controversy on a movie that'll make him money. And no one on the crew would sacrifice their job security like that. So that leaves you, Hugh. The jokes you tell on that stage prove you're cruel enough to do something like this."

Hugh folds his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair. "Alright, Alex, let's pretend you're right. Did you come here just to play Miss Marple?"

"I have a"—Alex picks the word carefully, a salesman choosing the right pitch—"bargain for you. I'll confess to you, right now, that I'm an AIDS-carrying queer, and apologize for assaulting you unprovoked. You, in turn, print a front-page retraction of these rumors in every single publication that ran them and sign your name to it. I'll even pay for it. This will cost you nothing. You can claim it was a joke that got out of hand, whatever you wanna do to save face."

Hugh lifts an eyebrow, sizing Alex up thoughtfully. "Your people could print a retraction. Sign it under the name of some anonymous detractor."

"People will see through that immediately. It has to be you. You had your fun, and now you get the chance to do something good for someone else. And it won't cost you a cent."

Hugh studies Alex's face. "In the retraction, do I get to say that you confessed?"

"That defeats the point of a retraction. If I wanted a confession in print, I've got my avenues to do that."

"So have your 'avenues' print an anonymous retraction."

He's being purposely obtuse here, and boundless anger rises in Alex's chest. "I don't think you understand how crucial you are here. Any shmuck could print an anonymous retraction. But only you, comedian Hugh Syme, could print one with your name signed to it."

Hugh chews this over, perhaps basking smugly in Alex's praise. "Okay. I print the retraction, but only if I can print your confession."

Fresh rage surges through Alex. "Why? That makes the entire thing null and void. If I confess to you here, why is that not enough?"

"I think the public should know—"

"I'm sorry, fuck the public," Alex says, struggling to keep his voice calm. He understands Hugh's game now, and he wants to push him far enough to hear him admit it. "You did all this to _expose me_ , right? Well, you've done it, and I'll confess. Why does it need to be public? The world already knows my sins."

"So what's the big deal about me printing it?"

"Do you even know what the word 'retraction' means?" Alex closes his eyes and tries to calm himself. "Alright. You can print that I confessed to you that I'm gay. But retract the AIDS accusations. You can say you jumped to conclusions. It's an easy, albeit prejudiced, assumption to make."

"Will you admit that it's wrong?"

"What?"

"Being a faggot."

Alex is shaking now, his fists clenched tight under the table. What he feels now goes beyond the realm of emotion into physical pain. Decrying his sexuality as immoral goes against every ethical fiber in his being. If God exists, why would He create Alex this way and then denounce him?

This deal was doomed to fail. Hugh is an envious, spiteful asshole only interested in publicly punishing Alex rather than making peace.

"Will you at least tell me why you did this?" Alex says in the quivering voice of a very small man. "Why don't you like me? Did you think you deserved the lead role in that movie? Or is it the fame thing?"

Hugh scoffs. "Alex, just stop. It's not how famous you are or whatever circle-jerk justifications you tell yourself so you don't have to change. It's you. Alright, it's just you."

Alex opens his mouth to spit out something that will put Hugh in his place, but nothing comes to mind. And it occurs to Alex that because his immediate reaction to Hugh's bold-faced honesty is to craft a ferocious verbal smackdown, maybe he's not that great of a person. Maybe Hugh is right, and Alex can't blame people disliking him on envy or dissatisfaction with their own lives.

Maybe he's the bad guy.

Alex pushes away from the table and flees the club like a vampire caught out at sunrise.

* * *

Geddy and Nancy are sharing a pizza at the table when Alex lets himself into the house. Nancy glances up to ascertain that it's Alex and not an intruder, but Geddy watches him curiously.

"There you are," he says. "How'd your little errand go?"

"Pretty much what I expected." Alex wants to just be done with today, but he knows if he goes upstairs Geddy will hound him about eating and taking care of himself. So he finds the single empty seat at the table, since George is curled up in the chair next to Geddy.

They eat in silence for a minute or two. Geddy looks unnerved by how quiet Alex has been since he returned.

Alex is uncomfortable with prolonged silence, so he speaks. "Do you guys think I'm a good person?" Something in his voice betrays that this is a serious inquiry, because Geddy and Nancy look at him with concern.

Alex continues, "I know I can be self-destructive and vain and selfish and I joke around too much, but nobody ever thinks they're the villain in their life story, y'know? Have I been a jerk this whole time and never noticed?"

Geddy shakes his head. "If you were a bad person, I wouldn't have fallen for you."

Instinctively, Alex nervously flicks his gaze to Nancy, waiting for her to say something derogatory about their relationship. He doesn't think she's that kind of person, but he's been wrong before, and there's a chance Geddy hasn't told her the full extent of their relationship yet.

But Nancy doesn't cut them down. "You're a decent guy, Alex. Yeah, you're flawed, but so is everyone else. It doesn't mean you're a bad person."

"I beat the crap out of Hugh," Alex says, the fading bruises on his knuckles catching his eye. "It wasn't self-defense. I did it because he pissed me off."

"That one incident doesn't make or break you," Nancy says. "And you can only let people beat up on you for so long before you swing back."

George puts his front paws on the table, trying to claim a pizza slice. Geddy gently edges him back into his seat.

"Yeah," Alex says, "but sometimes swinging back doesn't feel as good as you think."

After dinner, Geddy's tidying up the desk in his bedroom when Alex says, "I know what you should write about."

Geddy stops and turns to face him.

"Do the write-up about the movie. But frame it a different way, about how it got cancelled. You could interview me again. I'll go on record about the rumors."

Geddy knots his hair behind his head while he thinks, lets it fall back in place.

"I'll even come out. On record," Alex offers. "It'll be an exclusive and be sensational like your boss wants. And you'll get to keep all the notes you took."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah! Strike while the iron's hot, right? Plus, one of us needs a job they enjoy." Alex moves closer and takes Geddy's face in his hands. "Ged, I love you. And my career is pretty much over, but if this is gonna help you get yours back, then that's what I'm gonna do."

Geddy's eyes glisten with awe and disbelief. Wet tears stream down his cheeks.

"Please," Alex begs. "You've helped me so much. Let me return the favor."

Geddy sniffles, and Alex wipes away his tears with a thumb. "Maybe we should ask Neil if it's a good idea."

"It doesn't matter what he thinks. This article might not be in my best interest, but it's sure as hell in yours. I don't care what people think of me anymore. I just want you to get your job back."

"There are other jobs," Geddy murmurs. "I could start on my novel..."

"Ged, I trust you. You did an amazing job the first time. I know you can do it again."

Alex wonders if anyone has ever believed in Geddy this much, because Geddy looks like he doesn't know how to handle the trust Alex has placed in him.

"Look," Alex says, struggling to find the right combination of words to convince him. "I've been trying to salvage my career, but I can't. It's like putting a broken mirror back together. I need this. I need to burn to the ground so I can start over. And you're the only one I trust to do it right."

Geddy looks at him for a very long time. "You're tired and jet-lagged and stressed out. Why don't we see how you feel tomorrow? If you still want me to do it then, I will."

Later, Alex and Geddy lie in bed together with George curled up dutifully at their feet. Geddy has his head on Alex's chest, and Alex can smell the sweet, comforting scent of his hair. His bedroom feels surreal, and it's easy to believe Alex is in a world far away from the real one, where his life's problems are so infinitesimal they aren't worth worrying about.

Alex tries to imagine the grander scheme of things. The universe is made up of multiple planets and galaxies and may very well be infinite. The universe doesn't care about his mistakes or what people might think of him. Hell, maybe there's an alternate universe where Alex's reputation is untarnished and everyone still loves him.

Despite the vastness of the universe and the cosmic insignificance of his existence, Alex wants to fall asleep and not wake up for a month. He wants this entire week to have never happened, wants everything back to the way it's supposed to be.

For a long time Alex has imagined his life post-celebrity. He's always known fame was fleeting, so he planned accordingly. He has a considerable amount of money saved. He could easily provide for Geddy for a year or two before seeking out employment. Maybe Charlene was on to something when she joked about him doing porn.

Still, Alex is a bit frightened by this new reality. He found fame at age 22 and never looked back. He never had the chance to really discover who he is. Is it too late for that now that he's a little over a month away from turning 30? You're supposed to have your shit together by then, right?

Who is Alex if he isn't the glamorous movie star he's been pretending to be for the last seven years?

* * *

The article that runs in the Toronto Globe and Mail the following week reads:

_Just two weeks ago, Alex Lifeson was not only at the top of his game, he was at the top of anyone's game. His debut in the science-fiction hit 2112 brought him a staggering amount of fame almost overnight. This adoration multiplied when the film's sequel, Return to Syrinx, was released in 1979. Then came a supporting role in 1981's off-beat comedy Subdivisions. His picture has graced the cover of almost every major North American magazine. Women wanted him. Men wanted to be him._

_Then, in an instant, it was all over. Lifeson's career has become a cautionary tale and revealed a shameful, ugly side of human nature._

_On June 8_ _th_ _, Alex arrived at the shoot location in West Vancouver for his upcoming film, Middletown Dreams, to scathing looks from the rest of the cast and crew. Assuming he'd just arrived late, it wasn't until speaking with another co-star that he understood the nightmarish reality upon him now._

_"The tabloids and papers went crazy with these stories about my sexuality," Alex explained to me. "Saying I'm gay, that I have AIDS. It was a mess. But the worst part was how easily everyone believed it, and there was nothing I could do. Only one person bothered to ask me, 'hey, is this true?' Everyone else was on the tabloids' side. The AIDS claim was based on me showing up on set a few times with a cold. It was so ridiculous and obviously untrue, but it didn't matter. It was enough for them that it sort of seemed like I had it."_

_I asked Alex how the rumors affected his life._

_"I couldn't sleep because I couldn't relax," he replied. "Being on set or location for ten, twelve hours a day and being surrounded by people who stare at you like they hate you takes a toll. You're constantly panicking and stressed out. The day before, I went out to a restaurant and had a good time in the public eye. But after the rumors hit, I locked myself inside my hotel room. I was terrified. Confrontation isn't something I handle well."_

_During a filming break, Alex placed a call to his manager, Neil Peart, seeking advice._

_"Neil basically told me not to say anything," Alex said. "That if I just kept my mouth shut all of this would go away. I knew he was probably right, but staying silent made me feel powerless. Like I was standing with my hands tied behind my back in a fist fight. I'm supposed to just stand there and smile while people beat me down? So as I felt lonelier and more powerless, I stopped ignoring the instinct screaming at me to swing back."_

_Alex swung back the following day, June 9_ _th_ _, and was arrested by the West Vancouver Police for his involvement in a physical altercation with his co-star, Hugh Syme. "It was a horrible thing to do to someone," Alex told me. "And I regret it. He made some inflammatory comments to me, looking for a reaction, and I gave it to him. As soon as I hit him, he automatically won."_

_I was on location with Alex during his short time in West Vancouver, and it was clear to me that this whirlwind of controversy was slowly unhinging him, as he demonstrated his deteriorating emotional state the following day on location._

" _I snapped again. I yelled at the only person who hadn't shunned me yet, all because she refused to take sides," Alex confessed. "I was having a bad week, and she was my stress dump for the moment. God, I was an asshole. I think my biggest regrets are the moments I passed the abuse I took onto someone else. No one deserves that."_

_Alex admitted that he almost went down a dark path. "I got some pills to help me sleep, and there was a minute where I thought about swallowing all of them. And in that minute, I felt an odd sense of calm, because I knew if I did it all of the pain and hurt I was feeling would go away. People are hardwired to want approval and validation. We don't need to be treated like gods, just humans. And when you're not getting that, when people don't want to be around you, when they treat you like dirt, you feel like you've got nothing to lose."_

_I asked him why he didn't go through with it._

_"Well, I'm kind of a coward," Alex joked. "But beyond that, I knew killing myself would just pass on the pain I was feeling onto my family and friends. And that's the absolute last thing I want."_

_Alex survived to see the next morning, and at 8 o'clock he received a phone call from Vic Wilson, an executive producer at Anthem Studios._

_"He told me the movie was cancelled because the rumors scared the studio away. He didn't think the film would turn a profit in the wake of the scandals."_

_And that was it. In the span of just four days, Alex went from Canada's Sweetheart to reviled and unemployed. A career, and perhaps a life, has been ruined, and for what?_

_"The worst part of this is that they lied," Alex said. "They cherry-picked things that fueled their narrative and discarded everything else. You didn't see the hundreds of pictures of me hanging out with my agent or my manager or co-stars. You didn't hear about all the days I showed up on set perfectly healthy. The AIDS rumors are entirely off-base and the work of overactive imagination. But I really am gay, and if the papers had gone with the truth itself instead of this hurtful, hateful campaign tacked onto it, I don't think I would have been so upset."_

_"You're gay?" I said, surprised by his lackadaisical admission._

_"Yeah! There's your headline!" He laughed._

_I asked him if being purported as a sex symbol geared toward women was disingenuous._

_"Absolutely none of that was up to me. That's marketing. Whatever the magazines called me, whatever demographics I appealed to was entirely out of my hands. And, yeah, there's a part of me that feels like I deceived a lot of people by hiding my sexuality. But the other part of me is like, 'hey, I'm an actor,' y'know? The entire premise of acting is playing different roles and characters, with the understanding on the audience's part that it's all made up. There's a difference between what an actor does and says in front of the cameras and who that same person is off-screen in their day-to-day life."_

_Despite his tragic circumstances, Alex is determined to make the best of things. "Y'know, I think all of this was probably for the best, because it made me realize I want to retire from acting. I spent so many years pretending to be someone else, so I want a shot at just being myself for a while._

" _I'm not going to spend the rest of my life crying and feeling sorry for myself. I'll come back. Maybe I won't be a movie star again, but I'll do something that's worthwhile to me. Something that makes me happy. I'm not even thirty years old. My story isn't over yet."_


	15. Afterimage

_One year later..._

Alex sprawls over Geddy's chest, spent after a rigorous bout of late afternoon sex, which is becoming his specialty now that he works from home.

Alex moved to Fernie eight months ago after his parents assured him that the locals weren't the stereotypical small-town homophobes Alex expected. They respect his parents too much to speak ill of him, seeing as Mr. and Mrs. Živojinović are part-owners of the local golf and country club, to which almost everyone in town belongs.

So Alex bought a modest, two-story home nestled in a peaceful pocket between the golf course and the town proper. Scattered around the sort-of cul-de-sac are a dozen other houses, including his parents', each with a magnificent view of the tree-laden, mountainous landscape. Geddy moved in two months later after landing a job as editor-in-chief of the town paper. He has spent the last six months acutely aware of their neighbors' existence, attending neighborhood barbecues and social gatherings, exchanging short, friendly conversation while getting into and out of his car or taking the trash to the curb.

Alex, meanwhile, has sequestered himself away inside their comfy, coastal-style home, a self-imposed exile from the world. His job as accountant for the country club ensures he never has to leave the house unless absolutely necessary—or unless Geddy forces him.

Geddy's hands come up to card through Alex's sweat-damp hair. Alex sighs contentedly, his cheek resting flat on Geddy's chest.

"Always so happy to see me," Geddy says, a smile in his voice.

"Just like a dog."

"Except you don't stick to humping my leg."

"You love it," Alex snickers. In the time they've been together, Geddy has grown comfortable with letting Alex stick his fingers or his cock inside of him. It's a privilege Alex tries his damndest not to take for granted, because he remembers the anxiety in his stomach when Geddy initially rejected him.

"Remember when you thought you were straight?" Alex teases, skimming a hand down the length of Geddy's bare thigh.

"I think I still am. Barring one exception."

"You just begged me to come inside you, like, thirty seconds ago. That, and shouting, 'oh, Alex, fuck me harder,' probably makes you a little bit gay." Alex pushes himself onto his elbows so he can see Geddy's glorious bitchface.

"Alright, then I'm gay as far as you're concerned."

"I'll take it." Alex captures Geddy's mouth, and Geddy wraps his arms and legs around him, intoxicated on the taste of him.

Geddy's fingers glide down Alex's spine, warm, slow spots of heat that set Alex ablaze. Geddy breaks away to say, "We should go out for dinner tonight."

Alex scoffs, playful as he scatters kisses along Geddy's jaw. "You've got a world-class cook right here."

"You're a letter off," Geddy says, and Alex is taken aback by the unusually raunchy joke. "C'mon, there's a nice place just down the road."

"And how would you know? Have you been cheating on my cooking?"

Geddy smiles coyly and glances away. "Well, just for lunch."

"Let's keep it that way. I can cook tonight." Alex knows the conversation they should be having is hovering nearby, and he's trying his hardest to avoid it.

Geddy, however, isn't letting Alex off so easily. "Why don't you ever wanna go out?"

"'Cause I'm so devastatingly handsome that you'll have to fend off throngs of men and women who will fight you to be with me."

Geddy brushes his fingers over Alex's back. "Do you know why I fell in love with you?"

"My sense of humor? My huge schlong?"

"Your open heart. When I met you, you were like the sun. You'd shine your warmth and light on everyone."

"And look where that got me," Alex says, disgusted with himself for being naïve enough to trust. For letting his guard down. For allowing himself to turn out this way.

"It's been a year. Maybe people have stopped caring. Maybe they've forgotten. I mean, no one's tried to burn our house down yet. That's gotta count for something." Geddy says this like it's uplifting somehow. "I just... I don't think you're really happy."

"'Course I'm happy. I'm with you."

Geddy doesn't fall for that. "You know, the longer you hide from the world the harder it's gonna be to get back out there."

Alex rolls his eyes and rolls off of Geddy, putting some distance between himself and the accusation. "Ged, I don't wanna argue about this," he says, petulant, his back facing Geddy.

"Too bad. You don't get to fuck me and then duck out on the pillow talk." Geddy curls his hand around Alex's shoulder and forces him flat onto the mattress. As though apologetic for his brusque manner, he splays his hand over Alex's chest and cuddles closer to get in his face. "You put on this tough-guy act, but I think you're scared."

Alex doesn't have a witty comeback for that. He turns his head away so he doesn't have to meet Geddy's eyes.

Geddy grabs Alex's chin and forces him to face forward. Cheater.

"There was a point in my high school years where I wanted to run away and just sort of... stop living," Geddy admits. "I hated my brother for having advantages I didn't. I hated who I was, and the bullying made me feel worse. But my mother told me running away is just letting them win. It's hard, and it's certainly easier to give up, but you have to keep on living."

Alex exhales an aggrieved breath. "I don't care about winning anymore. They won. My career's over. I'm a joke."

"Fine, don't do it to prove a point. Do it for me. Do it for yourself. 'Cause we both know you're not as happy as you could be."

Alex wants to protest, but he'd rather not prolong this conversation any more. And it doesn't seem fair for Geddy to have such a miserable, fucked-up boyfriend when none of this was in the fine print. Geddy didn't sign on to come home every evening to a fatter, sadder Alex. The fact that he's tolerated Alex's hermit-like lifestyle this long is a testament to Geddy being too good for him.

"I want to be happy," Alex says, slowly and carefully. "But I don't know how to do it."

"That's okay. We'll figure it out together." Geddy smiles and sits up. Alex stares at the long, lean lines of his torso. "So, let's try this again. Are we going to dinner?"

"Yes?"

"I knew you had it in you." Geddy slides off the bed, moves for the bureau. "And maybe when we get back you'll have _me_ in you."

"You sure know how to motivate a guy."

They get dressed and embark. Dusk settles like a warm blanket around them. Geddy insists that the restaurant is within walking distance, so they head there on foot. Alex feels exposed walking through their quiet, cozy community, fearing a neighbor will ambush him with questions or curious stares.

"It might be a good idea to talk to a professional," Geddy says while they walk. "My mother would be more than happy to conduct a session over the phone."

"She can't write prescriptions, though, right? So I'm not really sure how she could help."

"I think getting you on medication so soon is probably a bad idea. But she deals in cognitive therapy. Changing the way you think. You can't change what happens to you, but you can change how you respond to it."

"No offense, but this sounds like feel-good hippie crap for people who don't believe in drugs."

Geddy makes his signature prissy face. "I'm not enabling your dependency issues, Alex. If it turns out you need medication, fine. But I think we should explore this first."

God bless him, Geddy is trying. He's so damn good and optimistic and Alex doesn't deserve him.

"Alright," Alex says, acquiescing. "You're the expert."

"Well, my mother's the expert. But I'll take it." Geddy smiles, his hair fluttering in the breeze.

They head down the deserted, tree-lined street leading into the town. Alex can't stop shaking, his insides trembling and his heart pounding. This is the worst. He wants to retreat to the safety of his bedroom where the public's prying eyes can't reach him.

Geddy glances over at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just dying."

"You can't be _that_ out of shape."

Alex hears himself chuckle. "No, I'm nervous."

"I will personally fight anyone who says something rude to you," Geddy volunteers.

The idea of scrawny little Geddy fighting anyone makes Alex laugh. "Think of your future, Ged."

"Look, the people here respect your parents, so they're probably not gonna talk shit to you."

"To my face."

"Then you wouldn't even know what they're saying anyway, so who cares? I can't claim to know what you're going through. The bullying I put up with in school _felt_ like the entire world hated me, but the world at large was pretty much indifferent to my existence."

"Is this supposed to be a pep talk? 'Cause it's not going very well."

Geddy sighs, and Alex curses himself for frustrating him. "Alex, I can say with certainty that it's not gonna be as bad as you think. Things never are."

"Can I get that in writing? Just so I can say 'I told you so' when some asshole throws their drink in my face?"

"Mm, sorry, I don't have a pen."

They make it into town where a new restaurant has been erected since Alex's last excursion. Dread grows inside of him as they near that little wooden building. He tries to think of a strategy for facing the public: _Don't put your hurt on display for the vultures that feed off your misery. But maybe you should seem a little wounded, because faking that you aren't seems like a betrayal of how deeply you've been hurt._

Shit, now Alex doesn't know how to act, and it's making him claustrophobic and panicked, and they're not even inside the restaurant yet.

They reach the door just as someone else is leaving. It's a teenager dressed in acid-wash jeans and a ratty blue-jean jacket with an insurmountable number of badges pinned to the material. He has dark hair, and he's leaving by himself, so maybe he's an outcast too and can sense the same vibes from Alex.

A smile of recognition forms on his face when he sees Alex. "Hey, you're Alex Lifeson, right?"

Alex braces himself for the worst. "Y—yeah." Oh Jesus, how did he manage to sound pathetic and embarrassing with just one word?

"Dude, you're, like, my hero!"

The words strike Alex like a punch, and he's still a little dazed even as he shakes the kid's hand. "Wow, really? That's—Thanks, that's really nice of you." Alex pats his own pockets, wishing he had something to offer. "I'm sorry, I can't give you an autograph."

"That's okay. I'm just glad I got to meet you. It was pretty cool of you to come out like that."

Alex has no idea how to handle this. It's been so long since he's met a fan. Old muscles and whatnot. "Thanks," is all he can think to say.

The teenager bids him a sheepish goodbye and ducks into the sea of cars in the parking lot. Alex stands in front of the restaurant, stunned that there is at least one stranger out there who doesn't hate him.

What if there are more? What if Alex has inadvertently become an inspiration to people questioning or hiding their sexuality? What if the world is not as antagonistic towards him as he once believed?

Could there be hope? Maybe it's possible for him to lead a normal life and integrate himself back into the world. It won't be the same as his old life, but it will be different. Good. Worthwhile.

Shit happens. People get lost, but they can find their way back. In this moment, as Geddy stands beside him, Alex wants to find his way back.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

* * *

 _"People will believe a big lie sooner than a little one; and if you repeat it frequently enough, people will sooner or later believe it."_ ~ Walter Langer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody bummed out yet? No? Well, that's what the sequel is for. XD I have other story ideas I'd like to pursue, but if you want me to move the sequel to the top of the list, let me know! I'll probably get to it eventually, but if people actually want it I'll write it sooner. Hope you enjoyed this one! If not, maybe you'll like the next fic I post.


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